The Substance of his House
by Dirtyfacade
Summary: "Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned..."
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. How I wish they were...

Note: Haven't abandoned my other story! Just a side project!

* * *

"Dae ye want tae go son?" Anderson had asked him.

"Yes." Enrico had replied without any hesitation.

The priest stared at the child across the 's stare was demanding, unwavering. His lips formed a tight line. His eyes burned with the intensity of blue flame. At twelve, he looked like a strange small adult.

"Ye'll be around older boys. It's a four year commitment."

"That doesn't frighten me. I am ready."

"Ye say that now." Anderson sighed. "Its not an easy life Enrico- Ah dunnae doubt your intelligence, but Ae worry fer yer happiness. This prepares ye for teh vocation of priesthood. Are ye sure this is wat ye want? "

"It would make me _happier _than anything in the world. St. Paul's Seminary is the most prestigious minor seminary in Rome. It is where I belong. " Enrico clasped his hands together, as if he were praying. "I have a vocation. I want to serve God and our church. Please give me your commendation Father."

With the boy's announcement, Anderson felt something in him relent.

A month later, Enrico had packed all his things and sat waiting on his "bed". There were two bunk beds. The other three boys refused to share a bunk with him, so Enrico moved his mattress to the corner and slept there. Enrico had said goodbye to no one, no one said good bye to him. Most of the help was indifferent to him. Some were even relieved he was going, having denounced him a sullen, unregenerate boy. He had no friends.

"Father's Scuopoli's here. Ye got everythin?" Anderson said, his hands in pockets.

"Yes." Enrico sat on his mattress, staring down at his rosary he held through his outspread fingers. He looked up at Anderson, frowning suspiciously. "I am truly really leaving aren't I?"

Anderson inquired gently. "Havin second thoughts?"

"No" Enrico said softly. " Are you?"

Anderson could not think of anything to say to that. The priest suddenly regretted he didn't understand the boy better- maybe he could of helped him more if he had. Sending him off had to be the right decision.

The man abruptly cleared his throat. "Ye should get gaeing. Ye dunnae want to be late fer yer orientation."

Enrico stood up sharply, with the dignity of a saint about to stroll into the Colosseum. He tied up his light hair quickly in a ponytail and shook his head a little as if to test its durability. He adjusted his collar, then picked up his small rosewood colored leather suitcase.

"Looks like yer all set." Anderson extended a hand. "Give me a strong shake."

Enrico looked at the priest's large outspread hand warily, as if he might be touching something scalding hot. Finally, he snatched Anderson's hand as if to catch himself from slipping.

Anderson was surprised how tight and insistent the boy's grip was. It was as if Enrico were trying to absorb the older man's power through his hand, so he could conserve it for times ahead. They shook up and down and let go at the same time.

A mysterious look spread on Enrico's face.

"Teacher, will you write to me?" Enrico swallowed.

Anderson smiled. "Aye Maxwell. But Ah'll expect ye to write back."

Enrico nodded. "I will sir."

"Ye be a good lad. Call us when ye get there and if ye have any problems. Yer free tae visit us anytime."

To that, Enrico's stare bored down at his shoes, as if he were holding counsel with them.

"Ye'll always have a home here at Ferdinand Luke's. Ye know that right?" Anderson continued softly.

The boy looked up. His eyes brimmed with tears.

"Goodbye Father." Enrico snapped. Without another glance, the boy rushed past him, out the door, and didn't look back.

Anderson watched Maxwell retreat down the hall, becoming smaller and smaller as he neared Father Scupoli, a bald, jolly and corpulent priest waiting for him at the other end. Scupoli made loud exclamations in Italian and clapped Enrico hard on the back, as they both headed off together.

Anderson stood there perplexed for a few minutes, then set about the rest of his day.

A week later, Anderson remembered his promise to Enrico. It was the middle of the night, and it came to him the way forgotten things do when one can't get to sleep.

Anderson quickly turned on his bed side light, stumbled to his desk and picked up a piece of paper. He better write it now- he'd forget later. And he was a man of his word, especially when he made promises to children.

It was a short letter- it wasn't Joyce, but he put some thought into it. In it, he reminded Enrico to be behave well (being as he was a representative of Ferdinand's Luke) and on the importance of prayer. He included orphanage news, complained about fluctuations of the weather, trivial things like that. The letter also reiterated to that if he had any questions that he could write or call for help, and that he could visit anytime he wanted. .

Anderson received a letter in reply about a month later. It was instantly recognizable who its author was. Enrico always used a distinctive peacock blue ink and had gorgeous penmanship. Furthermore, Enrico had also signed his own name larger then the return address on the front of the envelope. He had then sealed the back with crimson wax with the seminary's stamp. Only 12, and so much flair.

The letter itself was very pleasant. It thanked Anderson for his commendation and for his advise. It responded politely to the news at the orphanage. Enrico also reported he had received new clothes, had his own room, the food was better then he expected, and the work was challenging. He also wrote that the fellow students were cordial to him- but since they were so dedicated to their studies they weren't interested in befriending him. "_I am very pleased about that_." Enrico had written. Anderson had grimaced worriedly at that.

The letters, essays, reports came back and forth over the years, sometimes more frequently than others. The subjects grew more complex, more philosophical, in some ways more revealing. Enrico's writing could be deeply insightful, sophisticated, witty, even poetic. On the flip side, it could be pompous, bizarre and indulgent. Anderson always felt there was an overflow of thought and feeling pouring forth from the pages- it was hard to tell whether Enrico felt things or thought them.

Enrico never visited despite Anderson's invitations. His letters always delicately skirted the issue, or there was a halfhearted "maybe". He never called either.

It was 4 years later when Anderson would see Enrico again.

It was a warm spring day. Anderson was out in the main yard on recess duty. Sometimes he would referee a soccer game, or help a losing team score a point in basketball, play cards with the teenagers, or retrieve wayward children out of the trees. On other days he would read. Today, it was Song of Songs. He had seated himself comfortably on a side bench, close enough to see the children but far enough that they wouldn't be inclined to seek him out.

The priest was in the middle of chapter two. "_The voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills."_ when felt a insistent tug on his shoulder. He looked down. A childish face peered towards him. It belonged to one of his orphans, Lily, a sweet inquisitive little girl, if not a little rambunctious.

"Father, why do we pray to the Virgin Mother and not Jesus sometimes?" Lily shouted.

"Because child" Anderson smiled at her, not wanting to be distracted from his reading. "when ye ask someone tae do something, ye should-"

" Always ask his mother first." An rolling deep male Italian accented voice cut in.

Anderson twisted his head, unsettled. His jaw dropped, and his eyes grew enormous at who he saw. He felt Lily tug his shoulder again and twisted his head back .

"Will you play soccer with us Father?" The girl pleaded.

"Another day lass." Anderson said. Stunned, he put his bible aside, and patted Lily mindlessly on the head "Ye gae along now."

The girl sulkily shuffled away. The two men were free to stare at each other.

Even through Enrico had never included a picture of himself with his letters, those bright violet eyes was a dead give away His blond hair was severely tied back, though its length fell down to his waist. He had lost the waifish figure of his childhood, his shoulders had broadened, and he had gained some lean muscles in his arms. He wore a fitted tan blazer, and a plain buttoned white shirt open at the throat. It was neatly tucked into some beige pants. Around his neck he wore a delicate silver cross. He carried a finely crafted rosewood colored leather bag off his shoulder- he still liked that color of leather, after all this time. It was a clean, studious outfit- it suited him well.

Maxwell opened his hands outwards in greeting, as if to say "it is I". He smiled impishly, and then bowed, like a graceful pantomime Robin Hood.

"Hello Father." Enrico's voice was shockingly sonorous. "I remember when you gave me the same answer _many_ years ago – I can assure you that it does not go over so well in seminary."

"Well isn't it Enrico Maxwell." Anderson grinned from where he sat, leaning forward on the bench. "Wat happened tae yer voice?"

Enrico smiled demurely . "It changed."

"Ye've changed haven't ye"

"A bit." Enrico drawled, tilting his head and putting a hand gently on his throat_. _It was a subtle gesture of humility- although his eyes glittered mischievously. "You, it seems, have not changed at all. You still play football?"

" Why of course "Anderson said - he could say nothing else. He was amazed at how excited he was. There was a voice, a face, movement behind all those letters- all those marvelous words were now decanted into one living body.

The boy gazed at him mirthfully, then laughed, loudly, operatically. Anderson shook his head in disbelief- he could never remember Enrico ever laughing as a boy.

"Well. This was _unexpected _Enrico." Anderson breathed.

_"Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa_." Enrico said with coquettish contrition. He brushed a unruly lock of hair away from his cheek "I should have called beforehand?"

"Bah. That would have spoiled the surprise." Anderson waved his hand dismissively,

"A pleasant surprise I hope? "Enrico bit his lip.

Anderson scoffed. "Ye've been pleasant so far! And its always pleasant when one of my children returns home."

"Yes. Like the Prodigal son." Enrico nodded and smiled.

" How tall are ye now?" Anderson raised an eyebrow from behind his glasses. "Can't tell from doon here."

"183 centimeters" Enrico said. "185 with my shoes on."

Anderson grinned."185 wit yer bloody shoes on. Ah'm still much taller than ye. That school doesnae object to that long hair?"

"Why would they?"

"Came from God's own mouth." Anderson licked his thumb. Flipping through his bible pages, he read in a affected triumph. "Ah ha, There it is in 1 _Corinthians 11. 14_ _Doth not even nature itself teach you, that, if a man have long hair, it is a shame unto him?"_

"Hmm." Enrico smiled and shrugged."The look of shame must suit me better I'm afraid. As I told my tutors, _1 Corinthians 11:16 _that if a man is contentious about keeping the long hair, then we have no custom to stop him."

"Thats correct." Anderson murmured in dry impressed amusement. "Ye look like Samson- young and handsome. But we both know how that story ended!"

"Yes, tragically. But at the very least, I'll still be considered handsome." The boy smirked.

"How auld are ye now?"

"I am sixteen Father."

"Heh. Ah'll be damned. It seems like yesterday ye were six years old and Ah was helpin ye get to the nurse's office wit a scrapped knee!"

"I scape my knees less often nowadays."

"Ah'm glad tae hear that. Have ye eaten? "

The boy sighed in mock solemnity, clasping his hands behind his back. "Not in four years Teacher."

Anderson chuckled and stood up. "In that case, Ah know a nice place we could gae-"


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you James Birdsong for your kind review! I love reviews, they help me be a better writer and indeed a better person!

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They sat in the courtyard of an close restaurant, a friendly undemanding place, good for a casual lunch. The air hummed and glowed, cozy with warmth and pollen. Nearby birds sang with clarity and a fountain burbled contentedly. Roses bushes bloomed and the flowers opened themselves, fanning out with a courtesan prettiness.

Anderson sipped a tumbler of Scotch he gazed at Maxwell who smiled at him like a dream figure in a lush green vision of spring. They had ordered their meals and now waited with majestic ease. The priest smiled back with dazed mysterious anguished joy, how sweet and fresh everything was. The pleasant shock of their meeting had overflowed the world and permeated it like incense. They needn't even speak Anderson thought, he is here and I am here, my child has come back and sits across from me.

"How much I am looking forward to lunch." The boy said.

"The meals can't be sae bad at St. Paul's is it?" Anderson replied. "They say teh better the school, teh worse teh food. Hunger kapes teh mind sharp."

"If the school was any better and my mind any sharper, I'd die."

"Poor deprived boy, thin as a reed." Anderson chuckled. "Even if teh dinen were teh finest, could ye even bear tae pry yerself away frum yer studies long enough tae eat?"

"Hardly. I do enjoy languages. I am attempting to master French, German, Greek, Latin. Recently I have been studying Hebrew."

"Ha ha. Wat a polyglot. How many languages dae ye want tae spake?"

"Why all Father, all to speak of the glory of God." Enrico said charmingly, his fingers folded together. There was a seductively conscious lively amused expression splayed across his vulpine features , light penetrating eyes, his long intelligent nose, the curved mouth in a "archaic" smile. Ever the pleased pedant, good looking, dignified and somehow a little comical too.

"Gude answer." Anderson grinned. "Remind me again, how long are ye due?"

"I have finished the minor portion. If all goes according to plan, I should start major seminary in the fall. But as I took some advanced courses over the summer, I'll probably be finished in two years as opposed to the usual four. " Enrico put two fingers up.

"Sae fast? There's nae need tae hurry!" The priest cajoled. "Ah remember bein yer age… school was an enjoyable time. Wat aboot yer class mates? Its not gude tae nae spend time wit yer friends."

" Yes. Friends can be useful. " Enrico conceded. "I should hope you remember your school days Teacher. It wasn't long ago."

Anderson snorted at Enrico's smarmy remark. " Heh. Ah'm as auld as teh hills."

"And you are as august as one." Enrico said with a coyly cunningly downcast smile. " Anyone would be fortunate to have your stature at any age."

"Is brown nosen wan of yer electives?" Anderson laughed.

" I have no idea what you mean." The young man's mouth parted in dismay but his eyes teased.

" Sure ye dunnae. Dunnae they say flattery is a form o' hatred? Ah dunnae ken how long its been, Ah won't be listenen tae nae filthy blarney."

" Filthy blarney? It is the immaculate truth Teacher. But is there a part I missed in the catechism where it says a priest must renounce the praise of a former charge?" The young man murmured slyly. "but alright Father. I will put an end to this. All the truly charming things to say to you will come to me long after this luncheon..."

"Thank gudeness fer that."

"How sweet it smells." Maxwell breathed. "There are many varieties of roses here-"

"Aye, but a rose is a rose is a rose, one poet said. Can't recall his name."

Enrico smiled cheekily, the tip of his tongue poked at the corner of his lip. "It was a poetess Father. Gertrude Stein."

"Well. Aren't ye a clever boy."Anderson chuckled with good natured peevishness into his drink. " Gude thang schools dunna neglect tae teech ye yer poetesses these days."

" _Why_ do roses wilt I wonder?" Enrico stated. "Why will these roses spoil when their sole purpose of their existence to please with their delicacy and beauty?"

"Perhaps they serve other purposes, like tae remind us of oor mortality_." _Anderson reached to touch a nearby flower, petting its petals. "_All men are like grass, and all their glory is like teh flowers of teh field; teh grass withers and teh flowers fall, but teh word of teh Lord _stands_ forever"_

"Oh" Maxwell pursed his mouth in playful dismay. "That is an rather dark and dour answer. And for such a nice and unassuming flower."

"O." Anderson spoke rollickingly . "Wat a dark and dour man am Ah."

"Then you should have ordered a steak Teacher. Then you would get a big _knife._Maior risus, acrior ensis: quadragesima octava regula quaesitus."

"Ha ha yes."

"These roses. They speak to me too."

"And wat dae they tell ye Maxwell."

"If this rose were in the ground, it would wither, but then in time rise to delight us again." Maxwell sighed. "Astonishing us all. And they do it so peacefully and quietly too, with cunning. Flowers represent something. Eternal life, love. This flower was created by Our Lord to share with men His genius, When I look at this flower... I see what Adam once saw on the pristine morning of creation. Except his would not have been defiled and deformed with age. What a fool Adam was to ruin Perfection and deprive us of this gift."

"Aye, fergit teh yoke of damnation, death and sin and teh curse of pride." Anderson chuckled. " Its wilten roses that are teh real tragedy."

"But was it pride? Or misguided love for God?" Maxwell then said. Anderson felt his lips's corners turn upward. This was just like one of Maxwell's letters, taking a position for the sake of sparing." For what if Adam and Eve ate the fruit to know Our Father's ways, so that they could comprehend him as He was? In love they wanted to reflect his image perfectly, like children steal and dress in their parent's clothes seeking to imitate their greatness so that they may love them more? And God in his pride knowing they would do so, who could not accept their love or bear His own love for them, then he cast them away_?" _

"That makes God oot tae a bit villainous dunnae ye think."

"Not only. Brilliantly strategic. The serpent did not slither in by himself."

"But they believed teh serpent's lie. Yer theory daes away with their God given free will which they abused. They could have resisted teh temptation, if they had truly loved God, they would hae used their will tae obey Him."

"It is not possible to love and disobey?"

"Loven God? Nae. Loven yer sin and yerself. Remember Adam and Eve didnae take responsibility fer wat they did. They hid and when God found 'em, they blamed wan another. If it had been fer pure love fur God, wouldnae they have been unashamed and would hae come ferward?The priest mused as if to himself. "If they did it oot of love... they wouldn't hae needed teh serpent lie tae either. Lies are the enemy of love afterall. They would hae done it with teh full consequences in mind, trusten God's mercy, willen tae die tae love Him more-"

"One can be ashamed of their love and the impropriety it begets, the sacrifices it requires. Peter loved Christ and denied it." Enrico said softly.

Anderson blinked. Could those words come out of a sixteen year old boy?

" One of my tutors told me that Dante speculated mankind was in the garden only six hours before the Fall. How can that be?"Maxwell added.

Anderson scratched his head. " Even paradise gets auld."

" I would like to see for myself." Enrico smiled dreamily. " For God did not destroy the garden paradise, he only cast us out of it and set a sworded guard by its gate. Maybe it is possible that we can recover that lost innocence, that we could connive our way back in?"

"If ye find a way, ye let me know son." Anderson raised an eyebrow. "But Ah expect it probably dunnae involve much conniving. Thats wat caused everyone sae much trouble in teh first place."

The food came.

"Ah hope teh conversation warked up yer appetite." Anderson said cheerfully . "Yer enjoyen this aren't ye."

Maxwell rested his cheek with one hand. "Very much."

"Is that why didn't ye come back earlier?" Anderson threw up his hands. "Because ye thought ye wouldn't?"

"You could have come to visit_ me_ Father." Enrico said quietly.

Anderson frowned and then shrugged. "Ye never asked me tae lad. Should Ah have presumed tae invite maself?"

"So I see." Irritation crept into the boy's tone, as he straighted his back and folded his arms across his chest. A regal sulkiness was embodied in that upright stance. "So it is my fault?"

"Ye know it would have been far more convenient fer teh both of us fer ye tae come tae Luke's. Yer still a student. Ah have tae run teh orphanage. But ye never came back, not fer summers or Christmas."

The boy licked his lips. "Would you care to know why?"

"Ofcourse Ah ken."

"Honestly Father." Enrico's slender fingers slid up and down the circumference of his icy water glass. "I wasn't _well received _when I first arrived. Why should I expect it on my return?"

" Well received? C'mon now lad," The priest brayed,waving a dismissive hand. " That was ages ago. Naebody at Lukes remembers that."

"Alas I have a very clear faithful memory. I wished to wait"

"Wait till when?" Anderson scoffed. "Teh End of Days?"

"Until I became an astounding success." Enrico deadpanned. " Which may very well be at the End of Days"

" Bah! Yer already a success." Anderson jeered ." Ah read yer letters, seen yer marks! Ye have gifts! Yer bound fer grateness."

The boy looked intrigued. "What greatness do you foresee for me?"

"Ah'd say an intellectual like ye would make a gude Jesuit." Anderson said.

"Ah-" The boy's eye twitched. " Just ... a Jesuit?"

"Jes? There's naething wrong wit that. Its a meditative life. They'll let ye keep that lovely hair besides."

"Yes. I thought a teacher's main concern is for the aggrandizement of his students- not their_ meditation." _Enrico said, his eyes widened. He leaned back in his seat, placed a pointed finger down the side of his cheek, a strange, spearing intense look. _"_Do you not think that perhaps _a cardinal _is realistic?

"Ye have ambitions Ah see. Ah'd nevar dream oof discouragen ye. Ah helped ye git tae that school fer a reason, sae ye'd git teh best education ye could. It was ye wanted tae leave remember?" Anderson said matteroffactly.

"Yes ofcourse it was-"

"Sae ye decided tae seek yer oon way. Its not fur me tae say wat will become of ye Enrico. Only God knows oor vocations, and it ought tae be enough tae let Him decide whether we are tae be great men or small men. _"Fer we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus tae dae good works, which God prepared in advance for us tae dae." Ephesians 2:10 _Teh most important decisions in oor lives are if we are tae be happy, gude and remain in Oor Lord's love, and that's left up tae oorselves."

Enrico's mouth quivered until it fixed itself into a carefully calm line. "I suppose that is true but-

" And who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written:"For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughter"No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us." Anderson belted out. "All ye must dae is Love God. In the words of St. Paul himself: All thangs work together fer gude fur those who love Him-"

"I have yet to see that in effect." Enrico snapped with a stinging bitterness, slamming a palm down on the table. "I cannot receive benefactions, honors or sacred orders as a illegitimate. In the future, I will have to wait for the pope's dispensation- that is the only way I can advance myself. So it is God pities for the orphan and the widow- it does not say what He feels towards bastard sons of mistresses. For all we know, The Lord may delight in their humiliation as the world does!"

Anderson stared back with grim perplexity at Enrico's mercurial shift in temperment. How could the boy go from being poetic to petty in an instant?

"Wat on earth are ye talking aboot?" Anderson growled as he rubbed his temple. "Where did ye git those mad ideas? If it from those books they been giving ye tae read at that school, Ah'd have them burnt."

"There's no need to get excited Father." Enrico amended himself with a alarmed smile and made small waves of his hand. "Can't a teacher tell when his student is speaking ironically? Perhaps you may have failed to understand my intentions-"

"Intended or not, that was a foolish sinful thang tae say. Irony has nae place in these matters. " Anderson tsked baffled and also disapproving. "Ye should know bettar. Shame on ye."

Maxwell's smile metamorphized to a brooding scowl.

"Shame? I thought it was my indecent hair that brought me _shame,_ as you so jovially noted earlier." Enrico's voice lowered to a sarcastic drawl, hissing with a calm profound disgust. "Perhaps if you weren't so glib, I would assume a less ironic pose _Father. I_f you were a little more sophisticated , you would know not to condescend to chant scripture at me when all I am doing is make chatter for your benefit."

"Alrite son." A disturbed, concerned and wary expression spread across Anderson's broad features."Dae ye want tae say that tae me again?"

"What use would there be in that Father?" Enrico uttered coolly, his eyes suave and barbed with resentment . A ghost of a smile slithered on his lips. "Once again, I was only being _facetious_. I do apologize."

"Ye dunnae have tae apologize tae me Maxwell. Ye dunnae have tae chatter fer ma _benefit _ethier, because that foolish nonsence certainly isnae benefitten me or anybady. It won't git ye far. "Anderson said solemnly. " But ye can dae watever ye want. If ye want tae git oot of her and lave me tae eat ma meal in peace, Ah'd dunnae mind. Teh doors open tae ye." He gestured to the ivy colored gate some ten feet away. " Infact, Ah'd much prefer it."

At that the boy's lips parted, a blank pause and then shook his head.

"Teacher please do not be angry with me. " Enrico looked up with blazingly beseeching eyes. "I'm not sure how I can extricate myself from this present shame... but ehat I said to you was sinful and completely untrue. I enjoy our conversations, as much as I have enjoyed recieving letters during this long interim. Your insight has always been appreciated, your steadfastness has always been inspiring and your strength of faith continues to provide an important example to me. I wish I could explain why then... but what form of words can explain such unacceptable behavior? Perhaps Roman's 7:15 "For that which I do I allow not: for what I would, that do I not; but what I hate, that do I..." I am grieved... exceedingly grieved if I have occasioned you any unhappiness or disappointment. I can only ask that you and God forgive me and my foolish outburst- and I hope you can overlook such rashness as no disrespect and want of courtesy was meant by it... I also hope that you afford me the priviledge of finshing our meal together- but if you want me to excuse myself, I understand completely. "

There were a few moments. The boy hands clasped together as if he were praying._ Somethings never change_ Anderson thought.

"Fer Christ's sake." Anderson muttered. "Ah forgive ye. Eat befur it gits cauld."

They ate for a few moments in silence.

"Ah think Ah know why ye said those thangs. We all have troubles from oor past but ye hae tae put it awa." Anderson said suddenly.

" It does not matter. Not at all." Maxwell said ruefully as he ate . "No one takes the … plights of the young seriously."

"Ah dae. Son fur yer oon sake, ye have tae let all that sufferen gae."

"Ah, but where?"

"Tae God. His love and mercy is teh only relief fer troubles like these. Its too much fer anyone tae bear alone."Casting all my cares upon Him who cares for me." (1 Peter 5:7)

"I wish it were that simple."

" It is simple."

"Pray that that becomes apparent to me." Maxwell said listlessly.

"Ah already pray." Anderson grumbled with gruff admonishment."Ah've been prayen fer ye ever since ye were teh height of ma knee. Ah'll be prayen fer ye until Ah'm wit God and Ah'll probably hae tae pray fer ye there too. "

The boy dropped his fork with a clang and dove down into his hands.

"Maxwell... watsa matter.." The priest gaped cluelessly."Ye feel sick?"

"No. Its nothing Father. Its ... its... just that I often wondered if you did that. Still prayed for me that is. " Enrico said in a surprisingly even hush. His hands trembled away as tears like dew meandered down his closed petal like eye lids, down his cheeks, over the crescent of his lips into the welt of his lap. " Isn't that absurd of me. I doubt anyone else does."

Anderson sat back and inhaled deeply out of sheer surprise. The implications of that statement seemed to fly up around them like a crowd of frightened birds darting in all directions.

"They are plenty of people but they won't admit tae prayen on yer behalf. They knew better than that." Anderson croaked breathlessly and offered Maxwell his linen monogrammed handkerchief from his breast pocket.

The young man took it and wiped his face with great care.

"Now lets kape it taegether and get through this lunch eh?" Anderson tried to make light if it. "Ah know yer auld teacher can be hard tae bear, but we're not even half-way done."

"Yes sir." Enrico shyly offered Anderson's handkerchief back to him. " I have embarrassed you..."

"Ye couldnae embarass me wit tears." Anderson insisted as he grasped the other end of the offered cloth. "Its a sad thang if a man can't shed a few of 'em now and then."

As both their hands grasped the same handkerchief, their eyes and fingertips met. In the same instant their soul touched. A spasm of pain passed through them both. The boy grimaced and let go of his end quickly, as if abruptly seized by a sensation that he could not represent. Anderson took back his handkerchief, wet and soft with Enrico's tears and folded into in his breast pocket like it were a fragile living creature. The priest could feel its dampness on his heart and was suddenly embarrassed, overly warm and smothered with furtive confused tenderness and clumsy inarticulate yearnings. If only Anderson could embrace Enrico, stroke gently the back of the boy's head, even reach over and give the boy's slim and pale hand a mild squeeze. What a privilege that would be, how meaningful these small gestures are! When Maxwell was in his care Anderson could have demonstrated his affection in these ways, but he hadn't. Now it was too late, impossible. What was construed as mutual awkwardness and embarrassment was actually a herald of something deeper, like regret, even grief.

Anderson noticed Maxwell looked wide eyed with dismay to their side. Anderson turned to look. There stood the middle aged waiter, leaning agianst one of the restaurant's pillar, leering with malicious curiosity, like some malign Crucifixion bystander.

"We probably cannot eat here again,can we." Maxwell muttered, cringing.

Anderson gave the sneering waiter his most gruesome smile and made a jolting prowling motion as if he were about to stand and walk towards him. "Ye meen at this ungodly shitehole wit their poncy waiters?"

The waiter backed away and ducked skittishly into the kitchen.

Anderson situated himself comfortably, slumping back into his seat, and raised his glass. He downed the rest of his scotch."_Now_ we certainly can't eat here again. Cheers. "

Maxwell raised his water glass with a excited pleased admiring look. He took a long sip.

They placed their drinks down and laughed softly.

"Excuse ma language child."

"It is quite alright father, but take it that we should not stay for desert-"

* * *

The air was grassy, cool, slightly moist and spiced in later afternoon. The two men walked swayingly side by side in companionable silence, like spirits for several miles to the local train station.

"You didn't have to be so kind to see me off Father."

"Think naethang of it. A man of ma age should walk more."

"May I ask old you are?" Enrico walked with both hands held behind his back.

"Insolent boy," Anderson sighed. "of all thangs, why dae ye need tae know that?"

Enrico gave him a wry look. "Because I need to know everything."

"How auld dae ye think Ah am. Ah ask ye tae think carefully before ye spake."

"Thirty five?"

Anderson smiled slowly. "Yer fifteen years too low."

"Fifty?" The young man gawked. "Noooo."

"Appearances can be deceiven."

"Yes. That is the most interesting thing about them."

They had arrived to the end of the outside train platform, a bit like the edge of the world.

" Ah got a question fer ye son."

"I will do my best."

"Why did ye come tae see me taeday? Ye were curious?"

" You could say that yes. My curiosity has been satisfied. After all these years of correspondences, it was fine to see you Father. You are just as I remember you."

"Ah'm glad. Ye turned oot well Maxwell." Anderson huffed. "A wee heavy on teh flattery, but overall a fine young man. Pity that ye can't stay longer."

"Thank you Father." Maxwell assented with a polite nod. " But I shouldn't overstay my welcome. Thank you very much for lunch."

"Well." Anderson stared at him oddly, a little stung by the remark. "It was ma plazure."

The train began to pull in from a far, a howling like an on-coming storm, a charging dragon.

"Its not a far journey by train is it?"

"Not at all." Enrico said. The boy already looked vague and distracted, as if he had left already. "Not by any means."

"Are ye happier now son?"

"PARDON?"The boy yelped over the roar, his ponytail had loosened. Hair flew around his bemused face in fair wisps

"Ah'm asken ye are ye HAPPIER now? " Anderson called.

The train screeched and halted.

"Happiness? Who cares for happiness when one has their work?" Maxwell brushed his hair back with one hand and readjusted the strap of his rosewood leather bag on his shoulder. "I am sorry Father but I must catch this train."

"Alrite, alrite. Hae a safe journey. Ah may not look fifty but its teh truth. Time is not on ma side. Ye best come home and see me soon. Ye hear me?"

Maxwell caught Anderson's forearm in a Roman handshake. Anderson remained still as the boy came close.

"Time seems impartial to me Teacher. But I do hear you. " Enrico clasped harder – the warmth that coursed between their clothes and skins being taken in by Maxwell's vice grip, stored for some future time. "Good bye."

"God gae wit ye."

Once again Anderson watched Enrico leave and once again Enrico did not look back.

A few hours passed, it was nearly dark out, the sky the color of Maxwell's characteristic peacock blue ink. Anderson removed his coat, his gloves, and washed his face beset with the keen oustanding sense of being alone. Being a priest was a lonely occupation, but Anderson enjoyed his loneliness, perhaps needed it. He changed into his night clothes, poured himself a drink.

In his room, by dim desk light, Anderson took out a piece of paper.

__

Dear Enrico,

After so many years, I have finally seen you.

Anderson gazed at his inky script with both wonderment and hesitation. He attempted to make sense of the chaff fluttering about in his mind, almost thoughts but not quite. Why should writing to the boy be harder now than it was before? Words, words, words. The sound of Enrico's laugh and voice haunted like a ghostly lullaby in his ears. _I have finally seen him. And what does it mean? _

Anderson set down his pen and adjusted the glasses on his nose.

It was terrible to admit but Anderson had felt guiltily relieved at the removal of the boy and his complex aloof unhappiness from his home. He had felt those familiar feelings of relief when Maxwell had left today. The priest also felt a dull pity contaminated by a helpless dark incomprehension and grave unease. Such invading and unpleasant feelings were not unfamiliar, it had entered in his consciousness ever since Maxwell had entered his house. At Maxwell's leaving, it had receded, and at the boy's reappearance it rose up tall and terrible like a shade would on a cave wall now armed with brilliant violet stare. How perverse, as if he were reliving and renacting a doomed spirtual pattern.

The priest could never comprehend that child or his feelings concerning him. Unlike the other orphans who he loved so simply and abundantly, he could never love Maxwell as simply or much as he should. But Anderson still loved Maxwell he assured himself, he loved all his children. _You needn't understand someone to love them_. Alas he usually experienced his love for that boy as an awful anxiety, a fascinating puzzle, at times a obscure kind of self-punishment, but mostly not very deeply. He loathed the thought to that his concern for the boy was one conferred by convention of his house of which they had resided for a time.

Sending the boy off was only incidentally a convenient resolution to this dilemma. Anderson liked to dwell on the most positive interpretation of things. Hadn't he been Maxwell's discoverer? Once spotting the boy's talents and potential and recognizing the boy's desires, the priest had responded selflessly, responsibly, in Enrico's best interest. At 's Maxwell would not be stifled, he would be paid attention to, taught and understood by men much more sophisticated and patient than he. Surely Maxwell was much happier. It was not treacherous or overly optimistic to believe that.

Even so Anderson willed himself to think of the child, to pray and apprehend the boy in loving kindness. At times he even imagined in a rather maudlin ridiculous way that he missed Maxwell and that the boy missed him too. This turmoil of contrived sadness would empty itself into a whistful sense of his own virtue. God knew of Anderson's strength, his dedication, his good intentions, so whether he actually spoke to Enrico was irrelevant. But he had written the letters too hadn't he? The substance and evidence of love.

"_You could have come to see me Father." _

Yes I could have, the priest thought but- but what? Why couldn't he? He just couldn't! Somehow, the boy had managed to grow up without him anyways.

He stepped on something- he bent down to see. It was his hankerchief that had fallen out of his coat. It still smelt sweetly of spring air and youthful tears. Frustrated,Anderson crumpled the cloth and the paper and shoved them both into a drawer, crashing it shut and nearly knocking it off its hinges. _I will think about this later_, he soothed himself, _when I'm not so tired._ He picked up his bible and began to read.

__

"By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.


	3. Chapter 3

Why hello readers,( all two of you), I've finally updated. I hope you like this chapter and can excuse the bad grammar and amateur theology. XD

Thanks Shuramiyaki for your lovely review and moreover for your divine EM/AA fics. For those of you who haven't read them, go read them I say!

* * *

So Maxwell was pushed to the farthest corner of Anderson's mind to make room for immediate and simpler matters. A few months after their visit, Maxwell sent a letter with the good news that he had been accepted into a major seminary. Anderson sent back a congratulatory letter. Day to day business piled up, the letters waned to a standstill. Two years passed.

The night he saw Maxwell again, Anderson was organizing his study's library. The floor had remained a limbo of working disorder for years. Anderson could not sort his books quickly enough and constantly acquired new books which added to the clutter. They laid about resembling a scattered flock of beasts,with ribbons that stuck out between their pages like flickering tongues.

As the project was futile, the priest used this task as an opportunity to discover a book he had forgotten, or reread a book he loved, nursing an illusion of productivity as he indulged himself. At that moment, Anderson reread some old notes he had scrawled in the margins of his copy of The Life of of The Cross. He followed line by line with his pen and was bent over deeply immersed in one particularly illegible line."

Anderson managed to interpret the phrase _'lick the sores of lepers' _when his desk phone brayed. His pen slipped with the sudden intrusion of noise, leaving a mad slash on the page.

"Damn." Anderson cursed softly as the phone rung again. He reluctantly set down his pen and picked it up.

"May I speak to Father Anderson?" A deep Italian accented voice blared into his ear.

"Its him. Who's spaken." Anderson huffed irritably.

"It is Enrico Maxwell"

"Maxwell?" The priest sat up straight in his chair.

There was a beat of grainy silence as they waited for each other to speak.

"Its late." Anderson finally said. His wall clock read nine.

"I do apologize Teacher." Maxwell's voice softened, slightly doubtful. "I wouldn't ordinarily impose on your time, but... this is not an ordinary circumstance I am afraid."

"Wat dae ye meen? Are ye alrite? "Anderson jammed the receiver to his scarred cheek. "Are ye somewhere safe?"

"I am fine. I am in the phone booth at the train station by myself. I need to talk to you."

"Ah'm listenen." Anderson's green eyes widened.

There was an impatient sigh. "I cannot. Not like this. Could you come to me Father?"

"Aye Ah can." Anderson said quietly. "Ye stay where ye are. Dunnae worry. Ah'll come tae ye."

"I shall wait for you. Goodbye." The line clicked.

As soon as he had hung up, Anderson stormed towards his car. He swung into the driver's seat and smashed the door shut. Glancing up, he saw there was no moon. He drove with his vision unwaveringly ahead, his hands firmly soldered onto the steering wheel.

The train station at night vibrated with mean apprehension, the walls lined in slimy shades of scar pink and cabbage yellow like the hues of a shabby, uncared for mouth. The train tracks ran through it like scorched cavity. According to the schedule, the next train was due in fifteen minutes.

A few bodies with the resigned, thoughtless faces that one sees once and never sees again darted and circled about like a school of trapped fish. In their midst Anderson stood, unsure of himself. The priest was used to simple evenings alone. The priest's provincial lifestyle did not lend itself to the undertaking of unnecessary adventures, or to subject himself to bizarre contingencies.

Maxwell was nowhere to be found.

The phone booths on the platform were empty. The priest checked all three of them.

In the last one, a tiny folded up note was partially tucked in the coin slot. Anderson took it out and spread it out carefully on the glass wall.

On it: "**No Man's Land – EM**" written in unmistakable peacock blue .

* * *

About five streets away, the lobby of the Hotel Armonia had been partially revamped. The purveyor had run out of initiative or money. The brassy light fixtures burned with ruddy orange glow that made occult like crescents over the maroon leather walls and its stock pastoral and nudes art. The air was rank with stale musk and cheap cigars.

No Man's Land was at the side, through a baroque heavy door, a small, dark, a whale's stomach of a bar. An enormous counter looked like a heavy bunker, a gargantuan greasy millipede half filled the space. Bottles and glasses were lined up on glass shelves behind it like targets at a firing range. The other half was crammed with ungainly furnishings, chairs low slung and horse shoed shaped, tables with deformed knotted legs armed with clawed paws that looked like they might come to life and tear into their patrons' feet.

Anderson's vision cleared.

In the farthest most corner Maxwell sat in ashen grey suit and dark metallic mauve shirt.

Anderson found his voice, disgruntled and blustery. "Ye said ye'd wait

"And I did. " Enrico's voice was deeper in person, a rich unhurried cello, swollen and opulent with meaning, with an edge that slithered like a razor.

The priest sniffed indignantly. "In this place?"

"Yes. Awful isn't it." Maxwell wove his spidery fingers together on the table top. "Would you care to take a seat."

Anderson went over and attempted to mold himself to the small chair and confine his long legs under the table. His boot bumped against the toe of Enrico's pointed shoe.

When he was finally seated, Anderson studied the young man before him. Certainly, Maxwell was no longer the charming self conscious student he had met two years ago, he was formed, striking, formidably handsome. His hair cascaded down his back like sterling vines of a hanging garden. His skin had lost some of his childish dewiness, his face had hardened to their adult lines, and his eyes phosphorous bright, settled on Anderson with a chilled, relaxed, sophisticated, inviting gaze.

Staring into it, Anderson underwent an ill exquisite levitating sensation, as if the earth's magnetic field were balked and he were being drawn up, suspended in platinum white hot unfathomable space of the boy's mind.

The sight of a glass of iced liquor resting on the table brought Anderson out of it.

"Yer drinken." He said.

"With your kind permission sir, yes. You aren't going to lecture me about the dangers of liquor, are you?" Maxwell 's clasped hands moved to his chest, below his chin.

"Why, would ye like wan?" Anderson glared.

"Yes. We are at a bar. Where else better?"

"Wats teh occasion."

"It just so happens that tonight," Cynicism ticked onto Maxwell's face, like a movement of a hand on a clock. " is my birthday."

"Is it naew." Another surprise.

"Yes. They say wine maketh merriment." Enrico picked up his glass. "Let the merriment begin."

"That's not wine in yer glass."

"I'm having Ballentines, 18 years. I thought it would be fitting given my age."

"Huh." Anderson said. "Thats ma drink."

"As you drink it. Thoroughly iced." Maxwell sipped. His lips quivered slightly from the whiskey's bitterness but his glare was even and taut as a steel wire over the rim of his glass

"That's correct. How did ye knaew?"

" It is what you ordered when we dined together."

"Ye remember that?"

" I remember everything." Maxwell turned the glass slowly in his hand. "Even that."

"Ye weren't lyen. How time flies. Sames like yesterday - " Anderson saw a blurred shape at the corner of his eye and looked up.

A lank armed waiter stood there.

"Wats hes haven." Anderson said.

The waiter looked at him the way one looks at a cold slab of fish, then drifted off like a bleak kite.

"Seems like yesterday that what?" Maxwell inquired.

"That Ah was watchen ye were lave ma hoose, gaen doon teh hall way."

"And now?"

"Naew. Ah'm celebraten yer 18th birthday wit ye."

"I am glad Father." Maxwell said silkily. "It would not bode well if the two of us were here and if I were the only one celebrating."

The waiter came back with Anderson's whiskey. Anderson was grateful for it. He tilted it towards his mouth and hurled it down his throat.

"I've always wondered what it'd be like to have drink with you."

"And here we are. Is it everythang ye'd thought it be."

"Not quite." Maxwell said.

"Yer not sick off wan sip are ye?" Anderson said warily. "Ah'm not sure wat ye meen by that, but happy birthday lad."

"I meant nothing unpleasant. I appreciate your sentiments Father." Maxwell said with a waxen and insolent smile.

The boy's eyes veered ahead. Anderson turned to see what at. It was a large mirror behind him that reflected the scene of them seated together. They stared at it silently for a moment.

"Glass is _fascinating_ isn't it_._The light in this area bounces off my person, onto the surface, then back to myself. Therefore, my reflection is not a separate object . It is numerically identical to me. It is the very same." Enrico picked up his Scotch, as if to toast himself. "I trust in it."

" Ye shouldnae.' Anderson waved his hand at them. "Right's left, left's right. Reflections are deceiven."

"Yes, but isn't the truth is that we all deceivers, simulacrums, reflections of God?" Enrico took a lingering swallow. A drop of the whiskey glistened on his smooth lips like blood.

"At this moment, but naet furever." Anderson said solemnly as his eyes locked with the cool knowing eyes of the boy's reflection. "_Fer now we see in a mirror darkly, but then face to face. Now Ah know in part, but then Ah shall know just as Ah also am known"._

The reflection of Enrico smiled faintly at him.

Anderson turned back.

"Do you remember what we discussed last time we were face to face?"Maxwell licked the drop away with a quick dab of his tongue.

"A lot o thangs. Flowers mostly."

"Yes roses. The symbol of Fallen Man."Enrico reached in his jacket pocket and took out a metal case. He tilted it on its corner and let a cigarette fall between his fingers.

"Smoken is foul."Anderson grimaced with disapproval.

"The world is foul." With a swift economy of motion Enrico brought the cigarette to his mouth, a lighter from his pocket and flicked it.

"Aye,or wats left o it is."

"We agree then." Enrico lit it and exhaled with a sinking of his shoulders."A foul world justifies a few foul habits."

"Ah'd tend tae disagree wit that." Anderson scoffed. "When did ye start."

"When or how? More over does it matter?" Maxwell pinched the cigarette between two fingers and drew his lips sideways to it as someone would to approach a lover's kiss. "One smokes. One drinks. One gets by."

"There are bettar ways." Anderson said sternly.

"There are worse ways." Maxwell's honeyed voice oozed with nasty mockery. "What defines a past time and a vice is often a matter of opinion!"

"Regardless o opinion, cigarettes shorten yer life, they make ye ill. Tha's a fact."

"Yes I know." Maxwell tilted his head down, his lips curled in a secretive smile. "Fully knowing it will poison his fellow men, the manufacturer of these cigarettes produces them and sells them, a murderer who thrives on his murder. Billions of dollars are made. His customers, knowing full well the adverse effects, willingly expose themselves to their danger and die as a result."

Anderson took a terse sip of his drink. "Those are base thoughts Maxwell."

"They are. I am using that as an analogy As the serpent said to Eve: _Ye surely shall not die. _It was a lie Eve and Adam needed to hear before they could consume. I am sure they knew all along… from the moment their mouths went through the skin to when it bit through the core." Enrico spoke in a quiet significant croon, a lush and persuasive sound that wound around Anderson's ears like black-purple velvet. "They knew what would happen They knew the serpent was false, but they still were hungry. They wished to exchange the life and all the happiness God gave them, for the lies they tell each other and themselves, for nothingness. Like men and his cigarettes. Even while he knows it is wrong and that it will cause him much suffering, he will engage in it and with relish. What could describe fallen man better?"

Anderson was then assailed with an image of mammon ugliness, millions of smiling puckered grey mouths with toxic fumes spewing out the grates of their teeth. It all condensed to Maxwell before him with smoke looming around his slender neck, wispy halos ever-threatening to sink, solidify and tighten into a strangling noose.

Unable to bear it, Anderson snatched Maxwell's burning cigarette from his lips and crushed it in his thick fist.

Maxwell's mouth gaped unevenly from the abrupt confiscation.

"An interesten analogy." Anderson opened his fist above the ashtray, the smoke fell a blunted zig-zag into the dish. "But asily refuted."

" I wonder." Maxwell's eyes frosted and fixed on the crumpled cigarette. "Why couldn't God have done what you just did,"

"Put oot yer cigarette?" Anderson sneered. " Dunnae ye think He has better thangs tae dae son."

"Not that." Maxwell's fingers trickling upwards in quick successions like sparks rising from a fire. "Intervened. Stopped Adam and Eve from injuring themselves and spared us all from this… this wretched condition."

"Teh Lord has His reasons fer wat He does." Anderson stated matter-of-factly. "All ye need tae know is that He loves us."

"Look at the state of things now Father. Try to imagine, what it'd be like if He hated us." Enrico laughed harshly.

Anderson's brow flexed. "May Ah ask wat sae funny?"

"You speak like your letters, do you know that?"

The boy snatched at an unnoticed rosewood leather brief case by his long legs and planted it on his lap.

"In fact what you say is rote out of them. I can prove it too."

"Ye brought all ma letters...?" Anderson gawped.

"Were there so many?" Enrico swiftly flickered through the small pile envelopes, and gave Anderson a disquieted shaded glance while doing so. "I have a few of the few."

The boy found the right one and opened it nimbly. His eyes scanned the paper.

"See for yourself."Maxwell tap, tap, tapped the passage with a taunting finger tip.

Anderson took it reluctantly. There it was. _The Lord has His reasons for what He does. All you need to know is that He loves us."_

"Well then." The priest stared at his words critically, as if to inspect if they might have been forged. "Ah write a lot o letters. Sometimes they slip ma mind. Perhaps Ah dae repeet maself, but the message bares repeeting if its important."

Anderson placed the letter face down on the table and slid it away from himself. While doing so, he noticed that his glass was empty.

"Maybe I should have numbered your words like scripture then?" A smirk was laced in Maxwell's voice, like a virus. Anderson hated it.

"Doesnae sound like ye'd need it." Anderson said testily.

"I do have an impeccable memory." Maxwell said calmly. His light eyes glittered with strange triumph and his breath flamed with smoke and whiskey. " So I know for sure that my dear Teacher, you do not change. What you say… your manner of speech… your opinions. If my eyes do not deceive me, you even look the same as you did when I first met you when I was six years old."

"Is tha meant flatter me Maxwell?" Anderson glowered. The heavy and ghoulish urge to protect himself-rather, the secret of himself- was engendered, like a rotting knotted tumor in his gut.

"Not at all. I was simply making an observation."

" Ah'm glad yer sae observant, but will ye get tae the point? Because Ah dunnae think ye called me oot here sae we cuild hae a nite cap. If thats it, Ah suggest we finish up and ye lit me gae tae bed."

"Fine. I'll tell you. Then you may go to bed Father." Maxwell's hands flopped down palms up on the arm rest. His throat pulsed and trembled as if he were swallowing an spiny urchin. His eyes fluttered down almost shyly and his mouth drooped.

Seeing this, Anderson steeled himself and pinched the bridge of his glasses. The shame and weight of his other life basked around his head like a ring of the hottest of fire.

"I am no longer enrolled at the seminary."

"Arrrrrhhhh Maxwell." Anderson sighed with woe and relief, the ring around his head mercifully extinguished.

"You seem surprised." Maxwell said dully.

"Wen did all this happen?"

"Not so long. A day or so ago."

"Were ye expelled? Ah could intercede wit teh bishop on yer behalf-."

" I was not expelled Father." Enrico interjected. "I left of my own choosing."

"Wat dae ye meen?" Anderson barked. "Ye jes went and left? Ah find tha hard tae believe. Its nae like ye."

"Oh. Do you know me so well?" Maxwell said impudently.

"Ah know ye enough. Ye were always sure o yer vocation- ever since ye were a small boy-"

" I was not content at Lukes. In joining that minor seminary, I saw an easy escape."

"Escape?" Anderson clucked. "Ah understood that ye needed room tae grow, an intellectual atmosphere."

" I had nothing and no one to keep me. I found books more companionable than people. Yet do not mistake me, I found imprisoning myself within a fortress of musty books, writing elaborate nonsense, and the other students to earn useless honors, that are so much paint and powder, very distasteful!" Maxwell complained in an impassioned flurry of words. " No,I was not content at St. Paul's. I graduated and was carried along to the next step, only to find myself thrown in a deadening pit of imbeciles. I am not content there. Not at all."

"Then jes where are ye content child?" Anderson grunted, and added under his breath. _"And can ye gae there?" _

Maxwell cleared his throat."_Il me semble que je serais toujours bein la ou je ne suis pas."_

"Forgive me," Anderson said . "ma French is rusty."

"Baudelaire; it seems to me that I will be happy in the place where I am not."

"Heh heh heh." Anderson shoulder's shook in a curt cavernous chuckle. "Only an 18 year old boy and a French man would say that."

Anderson's frank grin crumbled as he was met with Maxwell's glacial stare. "Ah dunnae think yer tellen me everything."

"No?" The boy whispered.

"Nae. This story doesnae make sense. Why would an intelligent young man like ye decide tae behave sae rashly?"

"This is not a rash decision. Were you not listening? I have wanted to leave for " Maxwell cocked an eyebrow, and chopped one hand into the other's palm to emphasize his next words. "a- very- long- time."

"Ye nevar said anythang. In yer visit or in yer letters..."

"In the beginning there was the Word. At the end there was only banter." Maxwell listlessly swatted a hand. "A letter or casual lunch is hardly a proper platform for matters of consequence."

"Wat we wrote wasn't jes banter Maxwell." Anderson ground his teeth. He felt the disparaging swat like a barb of an arrow. "We wrote aboot matters o weight- theology, literature, philosophy-"

"The Aeaneid, Plato and Aristotle's Neomanchanian ethics, Summae Theologica, Augustine's Confessions and Dante's Comedy. But what did we write to one another? Yours could be summarized in a few paltry phrases: Hello, work hard, be good, goodbye. and mine: Yes teacher, thank you teacher good bye teacher."

"If ye thought that," Anderson muttered with a stricken frown. " why did ye kape answeren 'em?"

"Why." Maxwell said dryly. "It was the polite thing to do."

"Bloody polite!" Anderson erupted with disgusted exasperation. " Ah think yer sense o courtesy is off. It's far ruder tae lie tae me and then call me up taenight after yer've made a big decision!"

"Omitting information is not lying. " Maxwell's mouth made an alarmed sulky scythe like curve. ""And think, what would have happened if I had told you"

"Ah would hae taken ye back –" Anderson claimed. "o course."

"There could be no other solution but to acquit myself dishonorably and crawl back with a tail between my legs?" Maxwell lilted.

"Nae child has tae concern himself wit matters o honor. Yer 18 now and ye hae tae decide wats best, wats most honorable fer yerself." Anderson attempted an instructive austere, pragmatic tone. It was a hopeless bluff, his voice devolved into tense gloomy drone. " ye hae a scholarship and wit it a clear stable future aheid of ye. Ye can cast it aside - but gae aheid and see wat it gits ye. Wat it would git ye is a lot o pain, and struggle. Ma suggestion is tae think hard aboot this. Ah'm sure if ye took wan moment tae think aboot it reasonably, ye'd change yer mind."

"You do me the honor to suggest that, do you?" Maxwell drawled caustically. "Thank you so much Teacher.I may lose my mind, but I don't change it. I am not going back."

"Ah should hae known. Ah knew ye were bright, " Anderson sighed. "but clearly being bright dosenae meen that yer beyond childishness."

"What?" Maxwell gestured sweepingly. "Do I _look_ like a child to you?"

"Nay, but ye act like wan. Ah hae teh benefit o experience. It wouldnae be right if Ah permitted ye tae seriously entertain these mad immature ideas"

" I do not _want _your permission." Maxwell clenched his fists on the table.

"Then wat dae ye want? Ma attention?" Anderson growled.

Maxwell's face twitched, twitched, twitched, his face transforming into a taut and shimmering membrane warped and tight as if to contain a malefic gasping monster clawing to emerge out of its well of tar towards light. White as a corpse, and just as hideous, his pale, pale eyes, now massive, stared and stared, they radiated with appalling empty intensity and grueling fanatical bitterness undiluted by humor or irony.

"Your attention? Yes, let us examine what constitutes your claim to attention so far _Teacher_, " Maxwell spoke swelteringly, sultrily with fury. His fists shook violently, and he snatched at his glass. It cracked in his grip.

"What prize can attention worth, coming from a man who idly stood by and watched me SUFFER, who in six years never sought to see me ONCE, not even a phone call, who has never bother to exchange an intimate word with me, who corresponds with borrowed phrases, that is when he can barely MUSTER himself to fulfill a request to write a simple LETTER?"

Anderson watched woodenly, not permitting the chill of peril that passed through him to show. There was nothing, nothing in the boy's elegant appearance that suggested... what ever that was. It was a portent, a visible sign of some enormous unseen horror.

Seeing Anderson's ostensible non-reaction, Maxwell's face flinched. He released the glass carefully and gradually reverted back to normal, as he looked away to the side.

"Ah see." Anderson spoke dolefully. "Wat dae ye want me tae say Enrico. Dae ye want me tae apologize? Tae take teh blame fer watever happened tae ye?"

'No." The boy said tonelessly.

"Dae ye want me tae shout ? Argue wit ye, make a big scene?"

Maxwell shook his head.

"Then…" Anderson muttered gravely. "Ye ... want me tae gae, lave ye alone?"

Maxwell was still, catatonic.

"Wat is it ye want? Why dunnae ye man up and tell me."

Not a response. Not even a blink.

"Maxwell."

Still nothing.

_"_Maxwell. Plaze. Jes wat is it? _Why _am Ah 'ere?" Anderson rasped hoarsely.

"I don't know." Enrico hissed like a tortured gashing spray of the sea. "I have no idea."

Enrico stood and pushed his chair aside, rushing out of the bar with the frenetic upright gait of a man just released from an asylum.

Anderson sat rigidly in his private battle to overcome the pain of that meeting, the aggravation, his fatigued and abiding sense of guilty failure. He examined the cracked glass grimly, and put it down.

_Just let him go_, Anderson instructed himself_, it will make things much easier._ He was not indebted to Maxwell anyways, and after that outrageous display, he owed the boy nothing.

But my God! Who would have ever foreseen that the child, filled with youth, promise and ambition would come to this? All that education, all that passion, confidence left to rot on the shelf! What a waste, a goddamned waste!

More troubling still was something else- a realization, giant, sluggishly stirring inside his body, a darkly purposing growth, losing its obscurity as it inched near. Anderson swallowed on static dry air, hard as a shard of bone in his throat as he recalled Enrico's lucid violet eyes-

Like a spasm, Anderson dug into his wallet and threw some money on the table. He got up nearly knocking the chair over as he shoved it aside as if it were a personal adversary. He marched out of No Man's Land, out the lobby, into the street.

Breathing hard, the priest shot a glance from side to side. He saw a glimpse of thick mane at the end of the block, and went after it. It was a brief chase.

"MAXWELL." Anderson shouted after him, about 15 feet away. "MAXWELL!"

Maxwell kept walking.

"Come see meh tomorrow!" Anderson yelled louder.

Maxwell then stopped but did not look back.

"Ah want ae talk tae ye sum more. We'll lunch. There's a place called Amigo, its not far from here and teh food is dacent. Ah'll be there at wan. Will ye be there?" Anderson panted.

The boy gave a serene languid glance over his shoulder. With the slightest of nods, he shoved his hands in his pockets and resumed walking.

Anderson turned and walked the other direction. His duty done, he looked forward to going home, going to bed.

He did not sleep well that night.


	4. Chapter 4

Frist of all. OH MY GOD are those REVIEWS I see? Oh, you wonderful wonderful people! I shall try and respond but words cannot properly express my gratitude.

Emsi, I am thrilled that this story had an emotional response with you, as that is the point afterall. I definetly put in a lot of emotion into writing it. I delight in such feedback and do please keep reading. Shuramiyaki, oh you ... what can I say to you? Dear friend you are an excellent person as much as you are excellent writer. Thank you from the very bottom of my heart for all your support and encouragement. Coine, my aim is to capture the characters and Anderson is particularly hard to capture at times. I hope I continue to remain true to him as you continue to keep reading. Sigmund 17, talk about poetry! That was one of the most poetic reviews I ever read. For myself, I can't describe how good it is to get such a positive response and to know I have such kind literate readers. I definetly will continue to write, with charming reviews like that how can I not?

Alright. Here it goes...

* * *

"If ye hae a moment, wuild ye plaze wrap this fer meh Sister ."

Despite all the things he was capable of, Anderson could never wrap a box properly.

"Certainly Father. " The young nun said. There was a brief silence as she tried to discern the cause of the priest's distracted expression, and waited for him to reveal the recipient or the occasion.

Anderson gave the box to her and revealed nothing.

"Is there any color paper you would like?" The nun cradled the box to her breast with the propriety of the Virgin Mary holding the infant Christ.

"Blue's nice." Anderson smiled politely. "Thank ye."

* * *

A few hours before this exchange, Anderson conducted a through search through his crammed cabinets. He collected all of Maxwell's letters he could find and stacked them on his drawer.

Later he sat hunched over at the edge of his bed and read them one by one. When he finished each letter he would let it fall from his fingers to the floor. By the end , the man was surrounded with Enrico's words, circumscribed by papers like an advancing army.

He read in no particular order, except the first one which he saved for last. It was still in its envelope, the congealed black-red wound of its seal nearly peeled away.

Having read all those preceding it, Anderson read with no particular interest until his eyes stopped at an underlined passage. He had not underlined anything in the others.

The passage read:

_I have a good tiding of things to come. Everyone concerns themselves with their studies here. They are cordial, and we discuss our class work, but they have no interest whatsoever in befriending me. I am very pleased about that ."_

In the margin next to it, Anderson's hastily scrawled in question mark.

* * *

Lunch.

The priest arrived at Amigo's at one as he promised. He waited five minutes, then forced himself to wait another five. To distract himself, he took in the décor of the place.

It had a traditional Spanish theme, with thick textured white walls and furnished with dark woods . Burnished bronzes of muscular figures, some pagan, some Christian, were scattered strategically through the dining room well featured by gold lighting and looping blood colored hangings. They gesticulated with laughing, grimacing and glowering faces around the patrons like small strange familiars.

Having thoroughly examined the interior, Anderson was about to rise from his seat when he caught the sight of a splendid ponytail flit pass the front window.

The full sight of Maxwell went through him like a javelin. The hostess pointed him in Anderson's direction.

"Yer ten minutes late. Tha 's unacceptable. It is yer pleasure tae waste mah taime? Taime Ah dunnae hae?" Anderson demanded when Maxwell arrived at the table.

Enrico stood with an dry hapless look , as if Anderson were complaining about the actions of someone else. He was dressed in his smart black seminary uniform, a strange choice of outfit considering his truancy.

"Well" Anderson continued impatiently "wat dae ye hae tae say fer yerself?"

Maxwell set down the briefcase he was carrying, crossed an arm over his breast and bowed.

"_Peccavi, pater optime_" Maxwell drawled with tobacco tinted breath, lash fringed eyes set on the carpet.

Anderson waited a few moments to see what he would do. The young man remained deeply bent. It became clear he would not move until he was told to leave or sit down. Meanwhile Anderson's ears caught low murmurs from the other patrons. Maxwell's outlandish act of deference had everyone's eyes on them.

"Jes siddoon son." Anderson patted the tabletop, wanting to end the show. "Ah haven't got all day."

"Thank you Father." Maxwell sat down. "This is a very pleasant looking restaurant. Do you dine here often?"

"Nay not too often." Anderson sniffed. "Lukes's more convenient."

"Convenience is very important to you isn't it Teacher."

"Aye, if there are other thangs Ah rather spend taime on." Anderson was bothered by the uncomplimentary insinuation in that remark but then again everything the boy said sounded odd to him.

"I thank you then for suffering the inconvenience to come meet me." Maxwell nodded courteously.

"Ye neednae thank meh" Anderson's eyes contemplated the boy, not sure what to make of his polished obsequious behavior. "Did ye slape well last nite Enrico?"

"Adequately thank you. And you Teacher?"

"Jes fine. Ye taken care o yerself ?"

"Yes Teacher."

"Gude tae hear tha. As yer on yer oon, ye must beh mindful o wat ye dae."

"I always am, but perhaps my conduct last night may have given you the wrong impression? "

Anderson scoffed. "Ye gave meh quite teh impression all rite."

"For your information, I do not meet many people in bars." .

"O is tha sae? " The priest mocked. "_Nae many? _How many dae ye meet then Maxwell? Four or five?"

"Like you Father?" Enrico raised an eyebrow.

"Huh. We'll discuss this sum oother taime." Anderson grumbled as he reached under the table.

"Ah thought as it was yer eighteenth birthday last nite…."The priest set the sky blue wrapped box before them. "Ye shuild git a present."

Enrico ticked his head quizzically on a elegant stalk of a neck. Anderson thought in amazement: The boy's neck was so long, it was a surprise he could ever hold it up straight . Then perplexed and discomfited by the peculiarity of that thought, the priest's face flattened and his glasses nearly fogged over.

"Ye dunnae hae tae take it if ye dunnae want." The older man adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"No -its not that… I was .… simply- admiring the paper." Maxwell spoke mutedly with hesitation.

The boy took the box carefully and fidgeted fretfully with the wrapping, glancing up repeatedly as he did.

The gift was revealed to be a book on the Vatican art collection.

Maxwell gazed down at it, his reaction reminiscent to the lofty detachment of a Greek statue.

"Ah remembered ye liked art. " Anderson managed a genial smile.

" That I do." Enrico's tone was dead and aloof. "How terribly thoughtful of you Teacher. I thank you for this charming gift. It will be a memento of this happy occasion. "

Anderson's face fell as Enrico brought out his rosewood colored briefcase and placed the book inside it. That dumb inert briefcase had made its full debut as a key prop in this comedy of errors , a dummy witness withholding damning testimony against him. The priest recognized it as the same carrier had had held his letters last evening, the letters Enrico knew by heart. He tried to push back that disturbing memory in his mind.

In his bed last night, Anderson attempted to further excavate and unravel Maxwell's ruthlessly unsettling revelations and far from being illumined by any insight , the events of the night merely repeated themselves in his consciousness like a frenzied mitosis of a cell. The bar steeped in the odor of failure, the dead-eyed waiter, the noxious cloud of cigarette smoke, Enrico's hideously enraged face, the cracked cup, over and over like the tableaus of a hellish nightmare. The priest had angrily, exhaustedly crashed into sleep like a ship sways and plunders forward into black wrecking crags.

Despite his sincere wish (more a prayer) for all to be made well, Anderson had nursed a mean couched hope to be spared the trouble , that Enrico would not show up this afternoon. Recalling this, the priest's extremities prickled with feverish futile shame and regret, as if by hoarding that minute and ugly desire had guaranteed that Maxwell would come and that the lunch would go poorly. His shame served as a thin veneer to a boiler of compressed and secret resentment towards the boy, at his calculating antics and his heinous slights on him like a shower of bile.

The priest knew all these negative phenomena of feeling was a kind of proof. Of what, Anderson could not discern but he sensed a base subterranean presence of something within him. Not understanding its nature, he dreaded it would, without his knowledge , appear plainly on his face like a mark of Cain. The priest touched the scar that disfigured his cheek ruefully.

Maxwell ordered coffee and Anderson ordered tea.

"Ah read yer letters back this mornen." Anderson forced himself to grumble spiritlessly.

"Any striking discoveries Teacher?"

"Ye dunnae mention yer personal affairs in em. "

Maxwell dead panned. "You did not ask."

"Ah jes assumed ye wuild tell meh. By sayen naethang, ye lead meh tae believe everythang was fine."

"Yes. I suppose I did do that. " Maxwell 's hands spread out on the tablecloth with the hard-edged hospitality of a card dealer. "How then can I apologize to you for the failure to pour onto your eyes the innermost workings of my heart?"

"Ah nae interested in any sort o apology, sae lets change the subject. " Anderson replied. So far so good he thought darkly. What was the point, to try to qualify a bond, a paper bond that subsisted in letters now strewn across his floor like desiccated leaves waiting to swept away? It was like a mass tissues peeled back to reveal nothing. The priest's weathered features twitched with an agonized pang. He had adored reading those letters when he received them. "Why dunnae we talk aboot yer hasty exodus frum teh seminary"

"I divulged my reasons last night Father." Maxwell shrugged. " I do not see the purpose in repeating myself."

" Ah dunnae ask tha ye repeet yerself. Ah ask sae tha ye can divulge sumthang ye may o haven forgotten, or retract any thang ye said, if fer any reason ye were mistaken. "

The boy stroked his chin and raised his eyes to the ceiling superciliously.

" No." Enrico said airily. " I retract nothing. I forgot nothing . I was not mistaken."

"Sae ye threw away a first class education and teh opportunity tae serve God's true church usen the gifts He gave ye… cause… ye jes didnae like it?" Anderson glared.

Enrico's blasé pallor remained in tact. "That is correct."

" Well tha was a big waste wasn't it. Boot very well lad. It was yer choice and we all hae tae make oor oon path in life." Anderson smiled unkindly.

"Yes we do."

"And Ah suppose we're all not cut oot tae be men of teh cloth, are we."

"No of course not."

"'Better late than nevar' as the auld adage goes. Wat dae ye think of tha?"

"I cannot speak for you Teacher but I wholeheartedly agree with it."

"Gude then. Suppose we were tae talk aboot yer future plans ."

"Suppose we do." Maxwell sighed. " But I very much doubt those would interest you. Talk of plans are always so tedious . "

"On teh contrary, Ah'm very interested, and Ah wouldnae find it tedious at all-"

At the same moment they both reached for the pitcher of milk . Their outspread hands stopped in mid-air, one naked and lean, the other gloved and broad.

Enrico stared at the man across from him, as his slim hand acquiesced and fell starkly to the table like a cut reed.

To that, Anderson silently slid the pitcher towards Maxwell.

"Of course I always appreciate your kind interest. "Maxwell helped himself with the meticulous movements of a chemist, he transformed the coffee from a jet black pond to a swirling milky tide pool. " However I cannot disclose my plans at this time, as they are quite involved."

"Ah'm sure they are." Anderson watched Maxwell ceremoniously stir.

"That said I must ask…" Enrico tinged his spoon fastidiously against the rim of his cup as if to punctuate his next point. "Did you come here today to simply inquire into my affairs Teacher?"

"Nay. Ah came tae eat lunch." Anderson said. "Ah assume ye came fer teh same reason."

To that, Maxwell raised his cup and smiled slowly into his sip.

They ordered their meals.

"Hae you kept up with yer prayen Maxwell." Anderson asked.

"Ofcourse Father. There is not much to report. No visions, no visitations in the night, no stigmata, no burning bush." Maxwell smiled speciously. "Not even a singed flower."

"Is tha teh problem?"Anderson craned forward. " Hae ye lost yer faith ?"

"It is not something you can lose, can you Teacher?"

" Not witoot a fight." Anderson cocked an eyebrow.

"I still believe. What troubles me is the nature of the thing I believe in. I understand that God manifests Himself to every man differently. However He seems to manifest Himself to me in constant absence." Maxwell said.

"Nae sooch thang. _Teh LORD yer God goes wit ye; he will never lave ye nor forsake ye._ Deuteronomy 31:6. Remember there's nevar separation from God. Even in oor darkest hoors, The Lord is wit us." Anderson stated.

"And what of our frequent separations Teacher?" Maxwell rested his head on a fist.

"Wat o 'em." Anderson eyes sparked. "Oor paths same tae kape crossen."

"Albeit through a combination of unlikely circumstances."

"The Lord warks in mysterious ways." Anderson was terse.

"Quite mysterious." Maxwell's eyes contained the tiniest splinter of mirth, and his lips curved up almost imperceptibly. "I for one, could have never guessed that you would chase me through the streets at night."

"Ah cuildnae either." Anderson heavy neck and shoulders knotted as he was disgruntled, piqued at the Maxwell's simmering tone and subtly puckish look . "boot Ah dunnae regret daen it." He said this as if to convince himself.

Came Maxwell's reply dragging as light as a tugged silk tassel. "Then … do you regret not doing it before?"

Anderson visibly bristled like he had heard a insult. "It was yer choice tae lave lad. Remember that?"

" Yes I remember well." The boy said with a tight smile as he drummed his fingers on the table. "I also remember the conditions in which my decision was made. Despised as I was, what choice was I left with?"

"Nay, tha wasnae teh case." Anderson glowered confusedly. "Ah know it may have been hard fer ye tae make friends… and teh other children may hae teased ye a bit, boot naewan despised ye son. "

"heh." Maxwell grinned incredulously. " I wonder how it could be that we lived in the same house Father."

"By God's grace we did." Anderson muttered.

" I still do not think that could be so." Maxwell twittered a finger between the two of them " For if we _had_, you would know the other children did not … _tease_ me." He hissed 'tease' through his jaw like an obscenity. " Rather they made every day for me a endless succession of humiliations-"

"Sshhh." Anderson placed a finger over his own lips.

"What?" Enrico's eye twitched. "Teacher are you-?"

"Shushen ye, aye Ah am. " The priest raised a brusque and blocking hand. "Ah heard enough fer now."

Enrico cringed as if he just been doused with freezing water.

"But …but did you not say that you wished to talk to me?" The boy said shrilly, sunken eyed . His hands gestured fruitlessly as if they were bearing a weight they could not support

"Aye, Ah wish tae talk, boot o thangs o importance." Anderson replied bluntly.

Maxwell's features seesawed and contused with a blush until they gained their equilibrium, evened into a white mask of contemptuous tranquility. "Would you care to tell me why that is not important Father?"

"Maybe once it was , boot it not anymore. Its back in teh past. Wat gude is it tae bring it oop 'ere ?"

"What good you ask. Certainly not for _my_ good, for what good can it do me? Rather I say it for _your good _Teacher, only so you may have some idea of what trouble transpires in your house, when you are out of sight." The boy's voice was lingeringly arid.

"Ah'm well aware wat goes on in mah oon hoose, whether its in or oot of mah sight and Ah tend tae its troubles. " Anderson spoke briskly and set his shoulders back. "And Ah can tell ye rite now, tha if yer brothers and sisters teased ye, its because they didn't know any bettar. They were jes children."

"But was I not a _child_ too Father?" Enrico erupted petulantly, eyes narrowed and lustrous as his bottom lip trembled.

"Aye tha ye were Enrico." Anderson continued authoritatively with a flinty glance. "_1 Corinthians 13:11 When Ah was a child, Ah spake as a child, Ah felt as a child, Ah thought as a child: now that Ah am become a man, Ah have put away childish thangs__."_ If yer ever tae grow up ye hae tae put aside these childish grievances and learn tae forgive. Its Christ's oon command: _"Forgive, Ah say not unto thee, Until seven times: but, Until seventy times seven." _If ye dae not forgive others of their trespasses, Oor Lord in Heaven cannot forgive ye o yers. Matthew 6:14.15 _For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you: but if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses. _Its fer yer oon gude as well son. Yer cannot hae peace of mind holden ontae petty grudges, and why shouldnae ye hae it ?"

"Why indeed." Enrico pouted with voluptuously brooding. He turned away with a sleek and restless movement of his shoulders. "but what can one do? Who can evade the effects of Providence?"

"Providence has naethang tae dae wit it, it's teh aim o sin tae deprive us o God's grace, and the fullness o teh holy sprit " Anderson declared. "as it's a wicked hart tha tends tae bitterness and is hideous in His eyes. Terrible punishment is teh lot of teh Christian who carries secret grudges, as God allow their lives tae beh accursed, their prayers blocked, and then delivers em doon tae teh devil, as He has already given us meens tae break teh devil's master plan, which is His love and his mercy. When we dae not follow in His example towards oor neighbor, naethang casts us quicker intae Hells clutches. "

"Ah but who would be better accustomed to the devil's plan than the devil's child?" Maxwell hissed.

A age of dead quiet.

"Did Ah jes hear ye … call yerself …. teh _devil's child_?" The priest said dumbly.

Maxwell buckled forward, gnashing shark-like into the white crag of his knuckles as he burst into a sniggering fit of giggles.

"Why… are ye laughen?" Anderson gaped repulsed. "Thas nae teh least bit funny_."_

Maxwell only giggled louder, as if Anderson's words were the punch line to a perverse joke. His free hand slapped his chest in an attempt to choke it back. This only seemed to eject it further out to its full and ghastly trajectory, a low, harsh, atrocious cackle that sounded it should be accompanied by ejaculations of globs of black venom.

The priest laid his gloved hands on the young man's shoulders. "Stop it Maxwell."

Like a spell broken, Enrico's laughter ceased. He was held still and was made to stare into Anderson's stern troubled eyes.

"Dae ye understand tha these beliefs…callen yerself teh devil's child and thinken providence has it oot fer ye - aren't _rite?" _Anderson asked carefully.

"Abstractly perhaps." Maxwell enunciated precisely with a blank steady stare of a doll.

Anderson growl was low and swift as an under draft. "Wat kind o answer is tha."

"It is an answer be fitting the question."

"Ah'll tell ye sumthang now lad." The older man's lips were thick and down set and from behind his spectacles his eyes were kindled, the determined glower of a boxer facing his opponent for the first time. " Ah dunnae know how ye were taught tae spake by the sophists in the seminary, boot Ah won't abide this kind o worthless _cleverness_. It serves nae purpose boot tae confound and spake in circles. We're spaken privately son not innae lesson boot man tae man, sae all that Ah ask tha ye beh yerself. "

"Which one Father." The boy trembled defiantly.

"_Which wan? _Is tha meant tae beh a laugh?" Anderson barked spurred gut-upwards by a powerful manful disgust. He re-tightened his grip making Enrico tremor like a flame. "Are ye glutten yer irony or is this a bloody joke tae ye? If sae, ye best say it now and not deceive meh any further. "

To that, Maxwell smiled desolately, violet irises blazing bright as a cold and empty fire . "No sir." He said quietly. " I speak to you as I am "

Anderson released him.

"It'd might beh bettar if were a joke….bettar than harbouren those awful ideas. Men who think like that… they're off their heid. " Anderson huffed, heart pounding as he glanced down at food but it looked sallow, unreal, unappetizing. He could still feel the ghost of sensation in his hands, the quivering warmth he had felt in the spokes of Maxwell's surprisingly broad shoulders.

"You think I'm… _off_?" Maxwell pointed to himself.

"Ah wouldn't presume tae know wat ye are lad boot Ah'm not liken wat Ah see." Anderson said warily.

" Ah, so you find me _repugnant." _Maxwell leered. "That is what you must mean ?"

And Anderson saw. The boy's eyes were tormented, near hysterical with arrogance, hatred, fear, shame.

"That's nae wat Ah meen . " Anderson was stone faced. "Ah'm concerned."

"I insist then that you do not waste your concern ." Maxwell's chest caved, his demeanor guarded, and seedily sullen. He gestured to his temple adroitly with two fingers. "I assure you there is nothing wrong with me."

"Then why dunnae ye gae ahead and make sense o it tae meh. Explain it son." Anderson upturned a hand to give Maxwell the floor.

"Explain it to you?" Enrico moistened his lips with his tongue. "How could I Teacher? It is unlikely that it would achieve anything. If you pardon my saying so, it seems between you and I a great divide is fixed. "

Anderson sighed heavily. "It might beh bridged, if ye were straight forward."

"I have a premonition of what may happen in that scenario." Enrico said with a piercing glance . "One that may offend your sensibilities."

"Offend mah sensibilities? We've gone too far tae worry aboot tha." Anderson grunted. "Jes say wat ye hae tae say and Ah'll listen."

"Oh I am sure you will _listen_ Father to whatever I say. " Maxwell spoke in a soft, even, merciless tone with a lithe viperous smile. He let a finger rise up and tap the side of his cheek, as he leaned back and draped one leg over the other.

"With barely disguised impatience, convinced its simply the impudence of youth speaking. Then you probably will impart at enormous length a somewhat pre-prepared sermon endowed with a muscular portion of scripture, recounting my many errs, that due to my eccentric un-Jesuit path against your sound advice, for having no camaraderie with my coarse self-satisfied school mates, for having such folly to set myself apart , _ex hypothes_, my current plight is simply my just desserts, God's way of correcting my presumption, His will on earth as in heaven… yes? It would be as insignificant and unimportant to you, as it would be injurious to me. What is needed is a speech borne out of an ineffable understanding. To speak otherwise would be a graceless and irrelevant ordeal, a deformation and reduction of the worst kind, a running of the gauntlet. For you are, after all, the master of yourself Father, with a decent blameless disposition, evidentially beyond reproach, well admired for your kindly practical concern. Alas, it is of no help to someone like me. In fact it'd only be of harm. As St. Theresa said: there is no pain more unbearable than that of falling into the hands of a confessor who is too…." The boy whispered this word with a thick curl of his lips. " _prudent_."

Maxwell's words hit Anderson, sent his mind sprawling up and out into a harsh gray and airless plain , while his heart felt like a sponge being slowly luxuriantly crushed in Enrico's fist . It might have been better, Anderson managed to think, if Enrico had just taken his butter knife and stabbed him under the table.

"So Teacher, am I right?" Enrico eyes smoldered, still sitting in his pose.

Anderson coached himself that he should stand up and leave right now. He could not be blamed for it. To stall, the priest took a half-hearted sip of his tea. It was cold and flavorless and left his mouth dryer.

"Nay " Anderson finally said gravelly. "Ye missed teh mark entirely Maxwell. If ye understood anything fer certain , ye'd know a child's unhappiness is nevar insignificant tae meh and tha Ah'm nevar too practical tae neglect teh matters of the spirit. How we often perceive is a dark and narrow sight. Thangs are nevar as they same and they also hae meens of changen themselves . Amends can still beh made as new bonds can be formed. Ah believe in mah soul tha God is gude, tha He is kind and He cares fer us. Watever divide there may beh between ye and Ah, He'll give us teh wings tae overpass it. "

To that, the boy lips twisted in a contrived subdued smile.

"Ah but we'd sooner resemble Icarus and his son than angels Father… "

"Wat makes ye say that." The priest frowned intensely as he was instilled with the image of them tumbling headlong into emptiness. "Another premonition?"

"Something like." Maxwell suddenly sat up and uncrossed his legs. A tremor passed through his face as if he were struggling to cope with new some inner occurrence before it hung down to stare at his clasped hands on his lap. "Its's strange. So much has happened, so many disappointments, but I do not seem care at all. Ha. There isn't any time to care. What good is it to do so. What pith or significance of it is it? There simply isn't anything left..." his soft intonations resonated like the hollow lonely echoes of a shell.

" Wuild ye tell meh moor aboot tha." Anderson leaned in attentively. "Ah'd like tae understand bettar."

Maxwell peered up, his eyes wide with astonishment at Anderson's interest, then were dreamy, clear, exquisite with sorrow. His neck curved like a dove and his youthful face was delicate with anxiety, lit with inner yearning, like a glimmering reflection a single touch might destroy.

Anderson stared. The boy was beautiful.

"Father." Enrico spoke quietly like the excruciating tremolo of a violin, his hands slowly unfurling, and curling lustfully with anguish. "Is it not a possibility… that for some thing there can be no amends, that for some things, there are only failings and punishment ?"

Anderson's green eyes flickered at the sight of the boy's sudden vulnerability. Tenderness roused and composed itself in an discerning deep honeyed grief, the urge to console swelled in his chest like a balloon about to pop.

"Can ye tell meh wat those thangs cuild beh child? " Anderson asked gently.

"Many things. Perhaps the most important things. "Maxwell looked ahead far-gazing, and rose out of his seat as if entranced. "Do excuse me."

"Where are ye gaen." As Enrico slinked past him, the priest inflamed by instinct, began to raise his hand to seize Enrico's wrist. Sudden doubt like the abrupt dip of a candle snuffer set his hand down on its armrest. He feigned to himself (and anyone watching) that his aborted gesture was only a reflex, a accidental twitch.

" The restroom ." Maxwell answered without looking back.

The priest's eyes followed Enrico's El Greco slender form and its smoothly undulating saunter until it vanished around the corner.

A minute passed. Perhaps several more.

Anderson rose and followed the same path as Enrico did. He came to the end of the yellowed dank hall way and swung the men room's door open.

The bathroom was white and empty as a cracked egg, reverberating with the sounds of hygienic despair, the sterile drone of the air condition, the whimpering drips of a urinal.

Anderson closed the door and returned to his table. He knew he should feel furious and fed up. Instead he fell into his seat densely, unable to make any bearable sense of what just happened. He allowed himself to feel the full extent of the drain the powerful emotions that had taken from him last night until the present. The priest was exhausted, numb from what felt like countless blows, chained to his seat. It was an eternal feeling, within each minute and second great hollows of time opened and devoured themsleves. He was a motionless forgotten ancient object fixed to the pole of the world while people and things span around him with stupid harried exuberant orbit.

In the midst of his despair, Anderson's boot hit something. Enrico's rosewood leather briefcase fell over on the floor.

The boy had left it behind


	5. Chapter 5

Hello everyone. Just a quick Anderson-centric chapter for you all!

To reviewers: Faded, thank you for your positive feedback, and for noting the descriptions and the sexy sentence haha! There will be more sexy sentences in the future I can tell you that, I hope I can continue to impress you and keep you interested as a reader! Once again thank you so much. Uni I am thrilled chapter four stuck a chord in you, and it seems to really have! I feel lucky to have done so, and fingers crossed, I can continue to write beautiful- melt inducing prose for you that you can read over to your heart's delight. Fille once again thank you for your kind, fabulous and intelligent input. I always look forward to reading whatever you write, whether it be a story or a review, can't wait to hear more from you!

* * *

After lunch, he urgently desired quiet, order, peace. The priest put the briefcase under his desk, then tempered himself for the next hours with comfortingly mechanical tasks, the filling in of paper work, preparing sermons, playing mediator to the nun's squabbles, attending to his children, shining his boots.

Later during his daily walk, several of his teenage students had followed Anderson around the grounds eagerly , deferent and cheeky as a pack of bounding dogs. They were a ruddy and robust lot of boys, with scattered fuzz on their chins, cropped hair, some of them wearing neat wired rimmed glasses.

Anderson suddenly stopped and drank the youths in with startled clarity. It were if he were standing in the middle of a mirrored room, encircled by small duplicates of himself.

Confronted with their earnest and admiring smiles, the priest bowed his head and adjusted his glasses. He was both embarrassed and pleased.

* * *

Night came as it always does, a somber shroud over the prone slender body of day. As Anderson read over his abridged copy of Augustine's 'City of God' , he wondered who Maxwell resembled. The boy's unusually refined features and chill eyes could only be attributed to the aristocratic blood of his father.

The priest was vaguely troubled by that thought, as if he had been usurped. Why couldn't Enrico look more like _him_? It'd be a great satisfaction to clasp the boy's shoulder and say "We're alike, you cannot deny it, we look the same." Had Enrico ever wished for that too? It was stupid to even consider it. This desire, while peculiar, was not novel or personal, Anderson had experienced it time and time again throughout his twenty five years of raising children.

The man placed his book down and stared out the window. Against the opaque dark , he could only see the glare of the desk lamp and his hollow likeness, like a ghost, hover in the glass.

Perhaps when the spirit of God drifted above the waters, he thought, He had seen His own reflection in its depths.

Twenty five years. It hadn't seemed that long, but his bearing of time had been suspended within the pendulum of perpetual comings and goings of the Orphanage. It seemed as soon as a child entered into his house , they left. An empty space was soon filled. There was always more children, Anderson knew this with the surety of a wealthy man whose money never runs out. He knew too that he couldn't possibly keep all of them in mind. He could as well pass by one of his former charges in the street and not recognize them. This realization would cause Anderson every so often to gaze at strangers to try and discern if they had once been one of his flock. Of course they never were.

Though his little ones belonged for him for only a while, Anderson prided himself they would belong to him eternally in his memory. His love would endure undaunted and unaware of whatever his children may have become and may have gone to, and that by its sheer power and goodness it would span across the eons of time and protect them. His office alone was proof , it stood, ipso facto of the purity of this belief. It teemed with his charge's letters, photographs, drawings, cards, keepsakes that had over the years had acquired a near holy significance. They were the record and the relics of Anderson's purposeful life. In his absence, the priest imagined these objects faithfully waited for his return. He dared not disturb them from their places. Maxwell's letters had been an exception.

The priest craned his head under his desk and glared at the Enrico's briefcase. Among all his beloved belongings, it was a sort of a alien, a intruder, sacrilege. Should he wait for Maxwell to come to Lukes to claim it? What if he didn't?

Finally, with a frustrated sigh, Anderson picked up the briefcase and set it on his lap. It was not heavy or light. He smoothed his hands over its unblemished leather, its sharp corners, its fine golden plated locks. He couldn't open it even if he wanted to (which of course he didn't). It was very nice case for a boy of 18.

Anderson then noticed that tucked under the folded handle was a leather bound tag. He investigated it more closely. On it, a address was written in florid peacock blue:

_Corte Elegante_

_Via Machiavelli, 39_

_00185 Roma_

It was in the city.

* * *

The next day, after completing morning Mass and several other of his duties , Anderson studied his creased map that reduced the city of Rome to linear tubing of streets, pastel colored blocks of districts, and tiny Italian print. Somewhere in this geometric eyesore he would find Maxwell. When he found the right street he circled it with a black pen.

The priest set out in his car, briefcase in the passenger seat.

Anderson's trips were often limited, back and forth from Lukes to the Vatican . He usually did not drive himself as a car was always sent and the traffic was terrible, with cars and buses and motorcycles bawling and puttering and groaning, vying for passage through the congested arteries of the city. The priest far preferred the stillness and saneness of the country, its gentle communal air, its humility and spaciousness, while Rome trumpeted with its boisterous tinder sounds, its populace vigorous, its history ubiquitous. That afternoon, Anderson drove past small scenes of picturesque chaos, and business men, school children, elderly, well dressed women, slumped over fierce and dirt smudged homeless down the cobbled stoned streets, past the newly paved over roads, grand and crumbling edifices and a brew ha ha of stores on top of houses on top of more houses . Each person seemed condensed, cramped into their own universe. Like shrapnel, they flitted and deflected past each other, their heads ablaze with thoughts of people who were not around them and of events that was yet to happen or already had happened, those thoughts seemed to rise and comprise the smog floating above them in the immense bowl of the sky. Even the children were taught not to gaze into anyone's eyes, instead they looked at the cracks in the pavement or the cracks of their fingers. It amazed him.

Anderson arrived at his destination. It was a surprisingly central spot, located somewhere between the Colesseo and S. Maria Maggoire Basilica. The place bore nothing of its namesake. It was a bricked water streaked building with pipes and plaster panels painted like chalky bons bons, strangely charming in its imperfections, but not elegant. The facade looked reminiscent of the blocks on his map .

The entrance was decent looking, dressed in a hackneyed but self satisfied bourgeois décor. By the electric fireplace were an overstuffed sofa and two chairs, bookshelves with leather bound gilt edged 'great' books, Dante, medieval love poems, Shakespeare,all covered in dust and probably hollow inside. Above the mantle hung a uninspired impressionistic painting of a cheery golfer about to putt. Presiding over all of it, was a gaunt faced man in his forties at the front desk, sucking his teeth with rodent like sounds as he read his newspaper.

The deskman looked up as Anderson approached.

"Gude afternoon." Anderson said.

"Maaaaa Aaay hep yew?" The deskman hissed with a shredded voice like he gargled with broken glass. Then a sustained leer at Anderson's collar, the grey seams in his face tightened. " Faaaaa-ther."

"(I have a message for one of your residents.)" Anderson replied his throaty off sounding Italian. He wondered how long had it been since that man had gone to confession. Far too long he bet.

The deskman sucked his yellow teeth again. Smoker. He replied in his native tongue, that sounded no more welcoming. " (And who might that be?)"

Anderson hesitated. "Enrico Maxwell."

"(Sorry. I do recall anyone by that name.)"

Anderson frowned. "(You don't have a register.)"

"(The boss keeps it locked up.)"

"(You wouldn't happen to have a copy of the book.)" The priest begrudgingly put a 20 on the counter.

"(I have to take a look around.)" The deskman looked from side to side, then surreptitiously drew the bill towards himself and stuffed it in his pocket. He slid open a drawer and nonchalantly took out a black book from inside it.

"(What did you say his name was.)" The man said as he flipped through its pages.

"Maxwell. He's a young man with a long ponytail."

"Flat 7A." He said, pointing door wards. " (He just headed out.)"

"(Do you know when he'll be back.)" Anderson asked irritably.

"(How would I know ? My shift ends in ten minutes.)" The deskman shrugged.

Anderson too annoyed to respond, turned around and sauntered away, not before he heard the man call out lazily. "(Good luck father.)"

Anderson sat dourly in his car. As he did, he looked at his reflection in his rear view mirror. Other than his hair that had gradually turned from a limey blonde to a silvery sable, the rest of his face had not changed in the last decades. Regeneration had arrested the natural aging process and his enhanced body was that of a athlete in peak condition but stronger. At 52, he could explain it away with the specious reason of 'good genes and a healthy life style' , but as the years went on, his youthfulness would start to look absurd, unsettling, suspect. One day he'd even look younger than most of the children he had raised. At that, his gut twisted. There was no use to remind himself, he already made his choice and with his powers, he had done much good. He hadn't anything to regret.

But what was he doing then, bribing questionable deskmen and waiting around like a shady character in a back parking lot? Enrico might be gone for hours, days, maybe never come back. That was assuming that deskman was even telling the truth. Anderson knew he should not be wasting valuable time and energy on these thankless goose chases when he just as well could be tending to his house and his real children. The hours Anderson had lost were irrevocable. Before he'd know it another twenty five years would be gone. The most intelligent thing to do, he told himself, was to leave the briefcase there and go home.

Yet the priest did not do that. It was not any high minded ideal that had kept him there. The true reason was bitterly literal. He could not bring himself to go because he had to make sure that the briefcase got back to its owner. If he didn't, he'd wonder what happened to it.

"_You do not change Father_. " Enrico's teasing remark came unpleasantly to his mind like a remembrance of a long un-repented sin. Anderson then apprehended Enrico's in all his manifestations; from a willful precocious unhappy child, then the ambitious witty sensitive student, to the intense troubled young man he had recently met. Anderson then apprehended Maxwell's chameleonic changes moment to moment, from an charming engaging flatterer, to a studiedly detached provocateur ,to the enraged jilted son, to a vulnerable distressed boy, the young man was like quick silver rolling through his fingers, cool, insidious and shapeless.

While he had experienced his share of difficult children in his day, he had never had one like Maxwell. There had never been a child who had dared to speak against him so critically and compellingly . Certainly no child of his had ever dared _walk out _on him- which Maxwell had done, not just once but twice now. For the boy to act with such audacity must have taken some perverse sort of courage , or perhaps it was just brazen immaturity and conceit…. the man could not tell… despite his resentment and the myriad of other justifiable feelings, Anderson was so insensibly stunned by Enrico's behavior it almost felt like a confused and unfathomable form of being _impressed_. It was like how a aghast victim might also be strangely taken with the crime just committed on them.

He woke up later, alarmed. Anderson had dozed off in the car without quite remembering the precise moment when and how it happened. The lack of sleep the other night had took his toll on him. It was dark again.

When Anderson looked up, a window of the seventh floor was lit. Behind it he saw a flutter of movement, a shape of a long fount of ponytail, before the blinds dropped like guillotine

Anderson's body tensed with wild inexplicable thrill . His large hands gripped his giant knees as if to steady them. His eyes were green and alight as copper flame, teeth clenched like a famished animal preparing to make haste. He could not doubt what he had seen, anymore than he could doubt every moment that preceded this one. The man had seen Maxwell and Maxwell did not know that he had seen him, and so he felt as if he might combust with the enormity of what he knew and what the young man did not.

So the priest climbed out of his car and advanced into the lobby again, this time knuckles alabaster around the rosewood briefcase handle. The reedy deskman had been replaced with the rotund nodding night watchman. Anderson took the stairs, two at a time, and arrived to the flat 7A.

The cream colored door that faced him was gallingly non-responsive and unrevealing, like staring into the stuffed sockets of a skull . He stood before it for a moment, as if deciding what to do.

Anderson rapped the door lightly with his knuckles.

No answer.

Anderson rapped again, slightly faster and louder this time, face now dark, hot and furled, insides rising as if there were no longer any air in the hallway.

No answer. A whole minute.

This time Anderson walloped into the door with his fist, making it rattle and near bend with each heavy pound. He growled " Ah ken yer in there. Open it, before Ah break teh door DOON! "

The door swung open.


	6. Chapter 6

Hello there! Thank you wuya6 for reviewing ! Thank you for all my readers- at least, I hope there are still people out there who are still following this fic. Any feed back is greatly appreciated and encourages me to update. Enjoy!

* * *

The door of flat 7A of Courte Elegante swung open.

Anderson's line of sight rose from his bare feet , up his blue black pant leg, to the gray crests and creases of his crumpled white shirt, to focus on the wisps of hair that obscured and framed his alarmed violet eyes.

The priest deduced from Maxwell's dishevelment that Maxwell had not answered the door because he had not been properly dressed. The image of Maxwell frantically clothing himself flashed in Anderson's mind's eye. Feeling absurd, Anderson blinked it away.

Stunned, the two men apprehended each other as if the other might be an apparition.

"Ye left yer briefcase." Anderson finally said. Maxwell's rosewood colored briefcase crouched unassumingly by his boots.

The young man bent mechanically and snatched the case to his chest.

"Thank you for returning it Father. I thought I might not see it again ." Maxwell replied stiltedly.

"Yer welcome ." Anderson uttered.

The void of silence and space was set between them like an pitilessly glaring totem.

"Would … you …like to come in?" Enrico said hesitantly

"Ah wuild lad …boot… " Anderson grimaced. "Ah ought tae git back tae Lukes. Ah hae an early day tomorrow."

"Yes of course Teacher." Enrico set the briefcase down with a dismal clunk and brushed his hair back . "Allow me to seize this opportunity then to express my regret over what happened the other day, and to thank you once again for inviting me to lunch. I hope that in spite of everything, I've haven't spoiled any memory you may have of me."

"Alls furgiven Maxwell. There's naethang tae thank meh fer. Ah always think well o ye. Ye've always been …" The priest's throat drew into a aching knot. "Wan of a kind."

Beside and beyond them, the corridor appeared like an optical illusion; limitless in length but the matter of it impenetrable, petrifying them in place. Their eyes met properly.

Anderson sighed. "On second thought, maybeh a glass o water before mah drive wuild beh nice. Dae ye mind."

"Not at all. Do come in." Maxwell stepped back and held the door open.

Anderson's hulking shoulders brushed both sides of the narrow doorway as he stepped in.

With a 'bang' the door closed.

The apartment was neither large nor small. The walls were a pleasant almond color and the furniture and curtains were morning shades of pallid tans and pale golds. Next to the doorway was the dining nook and a large sliding mirrored closet to the right of it, so someone could watch themselves eat ( a trend that Anderson did not understand). Ahead of the nook was the kitchen and off to the side was the bathroom. The main room consisted of a moderately sized bed, a two person sofa, a desk and a mean and casual looking television on a squat drawer.

Maxwell gestured to the dining table whose shape and tint resembled a dilated pupil. "Please take a seat Father. Would you prefer a cup of tea ?"

"If ye hae it." Anderson sat down. The clock on the bedside table read 7:30. If he were at Lukes right now, he thought, he'd be watching the evening news. With a another look, he was relieved to see a bible next to the clock.

Not hearing any response , he raised his head.

Like an eerie stunt, Maxwell had disappeared.

"I have Melange and Darjeeling." Maxwell's voice then resonated from behind the closest plaster partition. He was in the kitchen.

" Teh Darjeeling plaze." Anderson called out. " Dae ye hae a kettle?"

"They provide a electric water heater." From where he sat, only a glimpse of the boy's ponytail was visible. "It is not as charming, but it is much quicker."

"Everythang is made like tha, tae save taime these days." The priest muttered as he heard the device fill with water . " Boot as Ah see it, there's nae use discounten small tasks . They hae their uses."

Maxwell leaned rakishly against the doorway . "Efficient as it is, you shall have to wait a few minutes."

"Ah dunnae mind."Anderson eyed a glass vase filled with pigeon's blood- red roses . "Lovely roses ye hae there."

Maxwell strode to where the vase was on the desk and leaned over them. "Thank you kindly Teacher." He glared at the flowers as if they had personally displeased him.

"Did ye get em fer yerself."

" I did." Maxwell disaffectedly fiddled with the bouquet. A limp blood red petal loosened into his palm.

"Why?" Anderson blinked. He couldn't imagine most young men buying roses for themselves.

"The reason is simple." The young man desisted and cast the petal off. He retrieved a cigarette from his desk drawer, and with air of sovereign indifference, put it between his teeth. " I wanted them and I do not deprive myself of what I want."

"And ye hae tae smoke?" Anderson scoffed.

"No, I do not have to." Acquiring his lighter from his trouser pocket, Maxwell cupped his mouth. As he flicked, his hands were briefly illuminated like the inside of a furnace. "But I see no reason why I should deprive myself."

"Ah cuild give ye plenty o reasons." Anderson said perturbed.

"Then I only need one reason Father. " Maxwell inhaled. "As it is my home, it is my right."

"Ye ought tae find a bettar reason then tha lad. Jes because its yer rite tae dae sumthang doesnae meen its the rite thang tae dae." The priest instructed sternly. "Ye invited meh in and ye ought tae beh hospitable. Ah'm asken ye tae put tha away as yer guest."

Maxwell's lips constricted around his cigarette and his low lidded eyes lackadaisically appraised the older man.

Anderson's severe glare did not waver.

"Very well. " Expelling a plume of blue smoke through his nostrils, Maxwell dashed the cigarette in the nearest porcelain ashtray. "I will wait until you leave."

He sat down across from him.

"Why did ye lave teh restaurant yesterday." The priest asked.

"Did you not say all was forgiven Father?" Maxwell's lips protruded with a peevish pout.

"It is." Anderson said. "Ah jes thought Ah'd ask."

Maxwell shrugged. "In all honesty, I left because I had nothing more to say to you."

"Didnae it cross yer mind that Ah might o had more tae say ?" Anderson glowered.

"No, I'm afraid. It didn't" Maxwell lowered his voice ingratiatingly . "But I hope you can forgive this lack of foresight , since you have forgiven all the rest?"

"Water under the bridge" Anderson said warily.

Maxwell rose . " Then do excuse me."

When he returned he had two white cups, two saucers and a teapot scarcely bigger than the cups.

"Why this place?" The priest watched Maxwell set the table.

"Who could resist such a spectacular name. " The young man rolled his eyes .

"Ye like it?"

" It is livable." Maxwell served Anderson first, then himself. "I once knew someone who lived here."

Anderson did not ask who. Instead, he tasted . The steam fogged up his glasses and the tea scalded his tongue, ravaged his esophagus and bubbled unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach. It was far too hot and strong, but Maxwell was a coffee drinker, Anderson reminded himself, and that species of person did not appreciate the subtlety of tea's flavors.

"How are ye afforden the rent." He muttered into his cup.

Maxwell straightened in his seat with an affronted gape.

It was a vulgar question Anderson realized with a crick of his mouth. It was too late. He had already asked it.

"If you must know" Maxwell's lips pinched and twitched as if he were masticating on something he wished to spit out. "I was recently informed I was about to come in to some money. My mother established a trust for me, for specious reasons- as a means to extort my father. She died before she could fritter it all away. As such, it stipulated in her will that those funds would not mature until-"

"Ye were 18." Anderson finished.

"Exactly. It is not much, but it is enough to live decently for some time. "Maxwell purred politely as his eyes narrowed to slithers of violet ice. "Oh, how very _thoughtless _of me. Would you care for milk and sugar ?"

"Plaze." Anderson grimaced.

He waited until Maxwell had returned with the condiments.

"Ye dunnae mind liven by yerself." Anderson helped himself to the white sand of sugar , then poured out the thick cream from the pitcher until he was certain the drink was palatable.

"Not at all. Solitude is the price one pays for excellence. You should know that Father." Maxwell said off-handedly.

"And how wuild Ah ken tha?" Anderson leaned back in his seat.

"A priest by definition lives a solitary life." Enrico's explanation was accompanied by the elaborate flourishes of his expressive hands. "By his vocation, he removes himself from the course of daily affairs. By his chastity, he is not disturbed with the obligations that follow marriage and children. By his position, he need not degrade himself with friends. Friendship is a relation between peers and a priest always stands in authority relative to others."

Anderson frowned. "Yer mistaken the ends wit the means son. Ah didn't become a priest sae Ah cuild git away from people. On teh contrary. Ah became a priest sae Ah cuild hep others. And Ah dunnae ken how ye got tha idea because theres naethang degraden at all aboot haven friends. _Ecclesiastes 4:9: Two are bettar than wan, because they hae a gude reward fer their labor," _It's gude fer teh soul tae hae sumwan who kapes ye company, sumwan ye can share yer troubles wit."

"Why." Maxwell quirked an eyebrow. "Do you have that Father?"

In response, Anderson took a long sour sip .

" This is simply a temporary measure." Maxwell told Anderson, his gaze distant and determined. "I will leave soon.

"Lave where?"

"Anywhere I please." The boy boasted. "I have no attachments to keep me."

"Nae attachments?" Anderson's jaw tightened. "Yer wan of mah children."

"Yes I was." Maxwell lilted. The next syllable impacted like a deft smack. _"Once_. "

Anderson's strong features slackened and sagged.

Enrico's reptilian expression was devoid of feeling ."You said at the door you knew I was in . May I ask how?"

"Ah asked the deskman. Ah saw a light was on." Anderson responded, hatchet faced.

Enrico raised an eyebrow. "You were waiting for me?" .

: Ah was." He wasn't going to lie.

"For how long?" His violet eyes gleamed.

"Wat does it matter how long ?" Anderson snapped as heat crawled up his neck. "Ah wanted tae make sure yer belongens got back tae ye."

"I do admire your dedication." Enrico clasped his hands business-like on the table. "'Aren't you going to ask me where I was before? Or perhaps you know that already?"

"How wuild Ah ken tha?" Anderson asked irritably.

"I do not know. How would you?"

"Ye think Ah followed ye?" Anderson snorted.

Enrico jutted up his chin. "Would I be so off the mark ?"

"Ye wuild. " Anderson tensed, confounded and appalled that the boy would even suggest it. At the same time, the memory of him raging at the door a few moments ago startled him like drunken crime recollected in chilled anguished sobriety. "Where ye gae on yer oon taime is none o mah business."

"But did you not ask but a minute ago where I was leaving to? " Enrico drawled. "And haven't you followed after me before?"

"Tha ae was different circumstance- and Ah had tae follow ye because ye stormed oot- and it was nite taime-" Anderson grumbled as he ran a hand through his untamable hair.

"And that reply is meant to give me confidence ?" Maxwell's tone dripped skepticism.

"Confidence?" Anderson growled. "Ye can believe it or not lad, its all teh same tae meh. Ah dunnae care. Boot Ah didnae come all this way tae beh accused o tellen lies."

"Then what is it that you came here for?"

Anderson answered automatically. "Tae return yer briefcase."

"And … that is all?" The boy leered.

The priest lapsed into a wary hush. It made no sense. The briefcase had been returned, therefore he was free to go. He even desired to go but yet could not bring himself to do it. Anderson thought of a prisoner who finds his cell door unlocked but cannot summon his limbs to move- ethier the prisoner thought escape impossible, had grown overly fond of his chains and stripes,or felt a guilt worthy of imprisonment. Did it matter Anderson entertained these possibilities gloomily. Ethier way the result was the same.

"Ah wanted tae continue teh conversation we were haven yesterday." Anderson rumbled.

To that, Maxwell took the teapot and poured.

"Oh?" He sullenly watched the tea trickle from the spout . "I can't even remember what we discussed"

"Then Ah'll remind ye. Ye said there were thangs that were failens and punishments..."Anderson started.

"Did I? Failings and punishments? How specific of me." Enrico clicked his tongue and took a affected dainty sip. "If I did, I probably meant it in a broad poetic sense."

"Maxwell." Anderson said sternly. "We won't git anywhere wit this kind o talk."

"Ah but where do you intend to take me Father?" Maxwell crooned contemptously.

"Alrite " Frustration built inside him and the older man did his best to push it down. "All Ah ken is when Ah saw ye last, ye seemed tae beh daen fine. Ah jes want tae understand wat happened between now and then."

" I must explain to you what happened? " Enrico smiled meaninglessly. "You sent me among strangers, thereby we became strangers to one another."

Anderson gritted. "Ah didnae _send_ ye anywhere lad. Ye asked meh tae lave- and nae matter wat ye'd like tae think, we aren't strangers tae eachother. We share a past ."

Enrico paused as if to consider that statement.

"Then would you fancy a game of cards for old times sake?" He asked casually.

"Ye and Ah nevar played cards." Anderson frowned.

"Yes I was too young then, but I remember how you would play with the older children. " Enrico stated." I believe I am old enough now, and I happen to have a full deck. Would you care to?"

" Sure. Wat games dae ye play. " Anderson muttered under his breath. " Solitaire?"

"Classic poker." Maxwell licked his lips. "Does that suit you Father?"

"Tha suits meh fine."

Maxwell retrieved a pack from the drawer. Anderson moved their cups aside to clear a space.

"Should I shuffle?"

"If ye ken how."

With a testy glance, the young man shuffled the deck perfectly.

"Ah see yer education wasnae wasted after all." Anderson remarked.

Anger flashed in Maxwell's eyes until it died swiftly like an ember into the rest of his placid expression. "Yes I managed to learn a few things along the way. Five card draw?"

"Deal em." Anderson assented.

Maxwell dealt. Anderson assessed his hand, and then put two face down.

"Two plaze."

The boy dealt him two and took one himself.

"Wouldn't this be the time we place our bets Teacher?" He suggested. "Why don't we make this game interesting?"

" Ah dunnae gamble wit children." Anderson scoffed.

"But I do not see any children around here." Maxwell murmured conspiratorially over his hand of cards . "Aren't I of legal age? Seeing that we are both adults here, shouldn't we settle matters like gentlemen? Consider the stakes first. I would never play for anything as… unseemly as lucre."

"Then wat wuild ye play fer."

"The question is more what would you play for Father?" Maxwell placed his cards face down and leaned in. "Or rather what by nature do all men desire?"

"God." Anderson said bluntly.

" It was a rhetorical question Father. I was going to say, knowledge, or so the philosophers thought." Enrico deadpanned. "If I was to win, I'd politely excuse you for the evening. However if you were to win…"

He leisurely extended a hand, as if waiting for the priest to leap to the inevitable conclusion.

"Then … we carry on teh conversation we were haven yesterday?" Anderson's forehead furrowed.

"Correct," The boy said softly. "That is what I propose."

The priest was motionless, as if he had heard nothing .

Maxwell sat back, features slyly askew." Is there something the matter? Has my offer… offended you?"

"Aye. it has." Anderson was matter-of-fact. "Its insulten and against mah principles."

"That was not at all my intention… but yet again, it seems our divide shows itself." Maxwell sighed lightly." What I have learned over my few years with my first class education is that in order to obtain a certain… level of knowledge, we have to take certain risks and sometimes make compromises. "

"Then maybeh yer not ae very gude pupil, are ye?" The older man glared.

" I am of a certain school." Maxwell was dry.

"Not frum mine."

"That is fine Teacher. " Maxwell patted his own chest. "But did you not risk your time and energy to seek me? What will you have accomplished if you leave right now?"

Anderson ground his teeth. "And there's nae other way tae git ye tae talk?"

" My house, my rules. Come now Father. It is just one little card game. You surely shall not die…or perhaps-" Maxwell smirked, goading. "you are concerned you cannot beat me?"

Anderson cocked a brow incredulously. "Yer not serious are ye."

"I am in fact." Maxwell batted his eyes . "Quite serious. Aren't you curious to see my hand? Should I show it to you? "

"Heh." Anderson smiled crookedly, amused at the boy's impudence . "Why not. Gae ahead son. "

Maxwell laid his cards down fluidly. "I doubt you can beat a full house."

"Ah'd think again . Four kings, four o a kind. " Anderson put down his cards. "Ah win ."

Maxwell's jaw dropped. "That is… impossible."

"And why is tha lad? " Anderson grinned frankly. "Ye nevar lose?"

"Not at poker." The boy's head hung down with comical ludicrous scowl.

"Must beh mah luck."

"Or my misfortune!" Maxwell leapt to his feet and knocked their cups and saucers off the table with a blunt blow. The cups and cutlery flew briefly, before they smashed and scattered in a obliterating cacophony on the floor.

For a moment, Anderson sat, leaden and stupefied.

Huge eyed, Maxwell stood where he was, his jittering hands by his sides, the staunch epicenter of his mess.

"Wats the matter wit ye?" The priest swallowed. "Its jes a game."

"I do not like to lose." The boy dove down to his knees with an aggrieved sneer and began to extract the ceramic pieces from the hardwood floor, agitatedly groping for the shards with increasingly slippery tea wet fingers. The more slippery the pieces, the more frantic and impatient his cleaning became.

"Careful- ye'll hurt yerself like tha." Anderson went and leaned over him.

There was no reply from Maxwell, except for a hooded resentful glance.

Anderson paid no mind to it- his large hand hovered over Maxwell's hand , until he flinched and gasped. Simultaneously, Anderson seized his wrist.

"See?" He growled and held Maxwell's trembling fist and pried it open to the light. "Ah tole ye sae ."

Dark blood dribbled down like calligrapher's ink from Maxwell's palm . The red-tipped shard of the former saucer fell from their joint hands.

From the corner of his eye, Anderson observed Enrico's pale, shaken expression as he looked at his wound marring his hand, like a young stag stunned to find an arrow embedded in its flank- that was until he caught Anderson in the act of watching him.

Those gently shaped almond eyes overwhelmed their deep sockets. His bow shaped lips compressed and turned down as if it were being pulled asunder from its corner. His milk white head radiated with a malignant magnetism the moon effected on certain evenings. His once- handsome orderly face was as breathtaking as any villain's carnival mask; harsh, handsome and grotesque.

"Let go of me this instant ."Maxwell demanded.

Anderson released him.

Like a flaxen blur, Maxwell dashed to the bathroom and swung the door open with a thunderous clang. He hunched over the sink, and twisted the knob with a shrieking wrench. The water wailed.

Anderson followed him and loomed in the doorway, a bespectacled pillar of bitter salt.

" I was being considerate. I did not want to get my blood on you, lest you have to wash me off your hands again." Maxwell steadied his hand under the tap.

"Is tha meant tae beh a joke Maxwell?" The older man watched the pink bloodied water swirl down the drain.

"Yes, but you don't appreciate my sense of humor?" The boy hissed with a soft inane smile.

"Nae, Ah dunnae think Ah like it wan bit." Anderson's fists tightened by his sides.

"I do not mind if you do not. It is an acquired taste." Enrico contemptible smile only widened.

The smile did not only seem impertinent to the priest but cruel, sickly, intensely repugnant. For the first moment since this affair with Maxwell began, anger- blunt, lurid and distilled, without any hues or saturations of other sentiments, rose in Anderson's gorge. It was a ugly reddish darkness senselessly spreading, pounding in his head while the gushing tap battered his ears with its discordant racket. The bloody water slurped down the drain.

The priest was compelled to act, to do something.

Clenching his teeth, he reached roughly in Maxwell's direction.

Maxwell jolted back into the wall, banging his head with an audible thud.

The priest glanced at the boy confusedly and did as he intended, twisting the knob off in one forceful turn. The drain made a dying gurgle. His anger was gone as soon as it had realized, like a metal that oxides and crumbles instantly upon the touch of air, a dream immediately erased upon waking.

With the tap off, it was quiet.

"Maxwell-" The priest started.

Abruptly, Maxwell turned away, back facing Anderson and stooped his lithe neck down towards the tiled floor. Bloody rivulets trickled down Maxwell's sleeve, as he leaned on the tiled wall, quietly panting and perspiring.

With a paternal grimace, Anderson said. "Son. Ah played tha game with ye because Ah thought we shuild as we nevar got teh chance when ye were in mah care. Ah nevar had teh intention o honoren tha ridiculous deal. We both ken tha real men dunnae settle matters through foolish games."

Maxwell looked back his shoulder. A faint blush decorated his cheeks

"We can sit down and talk if ye want , boot we neednae discuss yesterday." Anderson added.

" Then what shall we speak of Father? The boy anxiously turned around. "The weather?"

" Anythang ye like." The priest's green eyes held and assured him.

"Alright." Maxwell assented blankly.

"Clane yerself oop." Anderson offered him his handkerchief to which he listlessly accepted . "Ah'll see ye back at the table."

When Maxwell came back, his stained sleeve was rolled up, and the handkerchief had been dampened and wrapped around his hand.

" Fine. We shall talk about you." He sat down, looking far more composed.

"Wat aboot meh?" Anderson grimaced. "Aren't there bettar thangs tae talk aboot?"

"But I wish to discuss you." Maxwell asserted . "Did you not promise me any topic I choose?"

"Aye." Anderson grunted, already having regrets. "Ask then."

'You are from Scotland."

"Wat gave meh away." Anderson muttered.

Maxwell asked. "Were you a priest there?"

"Fer a short taime."

"Do you ever miss your homeland?"

"Nae anymore. Too Protestant a country. It rains too mooch."

"You've traveled many places I assume."

" Through mah holy wark Ah hae. "

"Do you have a favorite place amongst them all?"

'Home." Anderson grunted. "Wit teh lambs."

" Do you have any pastimes ?" Maxwell rubbed one hand into the other.

"Nae sae many. Ah read. Collect books. Take walks around the grounds. Cook. Ah spend most o mah taime organizen, collecten thangs fer Lukes- seeds fer teh garden. Trates fer the children… "Anderson craned his neck to better study Enrico's movements. " has yer hand stopped bleeden ?"

"Ah… yes," Enrico clutched at his wrist with a stricken, silly, pensive, and awkward look. He laid the handkerchief aside with a quick flick . "It is fine now. See?" He opened his hand on the table to show him.

At that moment, Anderson remembered that unlike himself, Enrico's wounds did not heal instantly. Pain was a lasting incident. That and unlike his work-gnarled hands, Maxwell's hands were long , but not unduly slim and his skin was so fair and unblemished that from a distance it looked as if the he could be wearing gloves. Anderson's face creased as he reproached himself: He could have prevented the injury if he had been more watchful. Why hadn't he stopped him in time?

"It doesnae hurt, does it?" The older man mumbled and lowered his eyes.

"Oh…no… not at all." Enrico mouth gently fell open .

"Ahhh… Gude." Anderson sighed and thought to change the subject. " Spaken o trates, dae ye remember when ye were a little boy Ah ordered cake fer a trate after communion on Thursday…Three kinds, cheese, vanilla or chocolate , and fer teh beverages, milk, chocolate milk and apple juice…."

"Yes." Maxwell nodded. " I do remember. I always preferred the chocolate."

" Ye did." Anderson said with a melancholic smile. "Wat else dae yer remember."

"Well. The nuns with the clackers would direct us into lines and take orders. They would call out each flavor and we would raise one or two fingers to order one or two slices or one or two cartons. They would count fingers and cut accordingly. Invariably some child took an extra piece of cake or drink, or one of the wrong kind, so by the time the last child came around, they usually got something completely different then what they requested. This led to many conflicts until you devised the paper slip ordering system shortly thereafter." Maxwell recounted. "I assume that is still in place?"

"Its hasn't failed meh yet." Anderson confirmed.

"I also recall you would often tell us how fortunate we were to be Catholic as Protestant children didn't get any cake at school." Maxwell stroked his chin.

"Ah did until teh day Ah saw some o teh little wans maken mischief wit it. They stood by teh window wit their plates chanten at passen town folk 'nae cake fer Protestants, nae cake fer heathens"! Can ye believe tha? " Anderson muttered and rubbed the back of his neck. "It samed cruel, boot Ah probably hae tha tae thank fer a few converts fer tha slogan- nae cake fer Protestants-"

A rich lulling sound interrupted him - and Anderson looked up.

Enrico was laughing.

Without forethought, the priest's eyes and mouth crinkled into cheery crescents and erupted into his own gravelly laugh.

The two men laughed together.

"Any more questions?" Anderson asked after their laughter had dissipated.

"Yes. A trite one. How would you describe yourself?"

Anderson froze. After a beat, he replied.

"Ah'm all thangs tae all men sae tha Ah might save sum."

"Meaning what exactly?"

" Average" Was Anderson's terse response.

Enrico scoffed. " That cannot be."

"Sae thas how it is. Yer gaen tae interogate meh wit questions and then not believe mah answers ?" Anderson grumbled.

Maxwell crossed his legs. " I hardly say I've been interrogating you Father. I believe all your answers, excepting that one. If I may be so bold to say, you must admit that you possess some …unusual features. "

"Unusual features? " The priest smiled tentatively. "Let meh guess." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose "is it mah glasses?"

"Yes, and the scar on your cheek is quite distinctive." Enrico said cuttingly.

Anderson's face darkened.

"Oh dear…. I do hope that you might find it in your capacity to forgive my tactlessness Teacher." Maxwell's silvery eyes drooped to half mast as his injured palm opened beseechingly." I did not mean to refer to things that cause you any…" he chewed his lower lip as he contemplated his next word ."Uneasee". He oozed unctuously.

"It doensae make meh unaisy." Anderson grunted. "Ah'm used tae it."

"I knew that you would graciously take no any offense. However I can assure you , if there is any doubt in your mind, that I do not bring up this subject in any pejorative way ." Maxwell's fingers made peculiar little furrows in the air and he tilted his head sideways.

Seeing the boy's eyes fixate on his scar like he might a specimen, Anderson facetiously turned the scarred half of his face towards Maxwell to allow him a better vantage.

Maxwell continued to stare.

"Aye." A faint bitter humored smile flickered across the priest's lips. "Hae ye gotten yer fill yet son?"

"Gotten my fill?" Maxwell eyes flitted away. " You misunderstand me. There are certain reasons... sentimental reasons I suppose they would be called. You see I found your scar quite... intriguing as a child."

"Sames like ye still do. " Anderson muttered.

"Perhaps. I often wondered how you acquired it." Enrico's mellifluous tone softened still, more low breath than words.

The priest stared densely. "Did ye."

"Yes. I would not be the first to do so, I am certain. Sometimes I'd even imagined what it'd be like to bear such a striking mark myself …" Enrico slid a slim finger down his pristine cheek as if he were tracing an phantom scar. "I always imagined that it'd give a man character."

"It'd wuildnae suit yer character." Anderson heard himself say .

"Ofcourse not Father It is far too…" He watched Maxwell's full lips caressingly form his words, and the brief flicking of his tongue against his teeth. "_interesting."_

The clock ticked 8:30.

Anderson cleared his throat. "Ah ought tae head back.'

Maxwell stood up . " I shall see you out."

They walked to the doorway. Anderson turned to Maxwell and found himself towering over him.

"Ah'll see ye again . "

"If you please. " Enrico raised a finger. "On one condition."

"Ah not interested in ae rematch if thas wat yer thinken." Anderson scoffed.

"Neither am I." Enrico said. " My condition is that we discuss you again."

"Ahhh…" Anderson rasped bemusedly. "Rather interested in tha subject aren't we? "

"Why ?" Maxwell inquired innocently. "Do you mind?"

"Nae." Anderson said gruffly. "Git a pen an' a piece of paper."

Maxwell did.

"Write doon yer phone number." He instructed.

Maxwell held the paper flat against the wall and wrote it swiftly in his peacock blue pen and handed it to him.

"Is this teh rite number?" Anderson eyed the paper.

The correct number of digits and prefix were there. The script swirled flamboyantly like they might waft off the paper like tendrils of smoke.

" Of course it is. Or don't you trust me?" Maxwell eyes smiled.

Anderson stared back, slightly bothered.

"Ah'll call ye tomorrow evenen tae arrange sumthang. Remember tae pick oop" He folded the paper two ways and shoved it deeply in his coat pocket "Git sum rest."

The priest walked out. "Gude nite Maxwell."

He just barely heard a whisper before the door closed behind him.

"Goodnight … Teacher"


	7. Chapter 7

Before I begin let me say that I was really touched and encouraged by the extensive and eloquent reviews I recieved for the last chapter! To know that people are enjoying and having an emotional connection to the story means the world to me. For each one of my reviewers, I will send you a message to personally thank you that is more in depth than what I can write here. And to everyone who is still following this story, please keep reading as I promise it will get more exciting LOL. In the meantime, I hope this chapter does not disappoint.

* * *

The phone number remained on his desk , anticipating his next action.

In the evening, Anderson sunk into his chair weighed with the strange significance of what he was about to do. He seldom had personal business like this, and the private nature of the act made it even stranger to him. Only he and Enrico knew of this arrangement. If he did nothing, he would be only accountable to his own conscience.

That was if the number worked.

Anderson dialed, glade green eyes skimming back and forth from the piece of paper to the buttons he poked in with a cloddish finger.

A moment later his ears were boxed by a eerie set of 'brrings'. Then another set. Then another.

How long should he let it ring? Anderson thought tensely. One more time? Three more times? Seventy seven times seven times?

A muted click.

"Good evening Father." Maxwell's ambiguous, perhaps disinterested tone filled the line.

Regardless, Anderson was glad to hear it. "Gude evenen son. How hae ye been?"

* * *

Maxwell decided the place and Anderson decided the time , but presently Anderson felt his 'choice' of time had been an illusion. It had allowed him to believe the present , past and future were distinctly separate and controllable, when they constantly interpenetrated and swept him along. The days leading up to now had blurred together with brutal swiftness and this date imposed upon on him like an ambush.

They were meeting again.

The priest waited on the outside steps of the Gallery Bourgese. He had arrived five minutes early. The muesum's complex white façade contrasted strikingly against the bombastic expanse of blue sky. Thankfully it was not the tourist season , so he did not have to endure the staggering hordes of sun ravaged visitors. Anderson smiled at the few children that had peered at him as they passed and then saw Enrico was approaching him. Enrico was clad in charcoal trousers with a matching blazer and a wine colored shirt.

The young man stopped a few steps below him. They inhabited a brief silence as if deciding what tone to take.

Maxwell smiled pleasantly . "Bonjourno Teacher."

"Gude afternoon Maxwell." Anderson smiled back. "Yer on taime taeday."

Maxwell's expression soured . "Why wouldn't I be?"

Anderson decided to change the subject. "Why did ye want tae meet ere?"

"It should be quite obvious Father." Enrico strolled past the priest, ponytail trailing charmingly behind him like a dancer's ribbon. "We are going to go in."

Anderson followed.

At the entrance booth, Anderson put down the price for two adults on the counter.

With an annoyed pointed look, Enrico pushed Anderson's bills aside and paid for himself.

The entrance hall was bright, ornate and sparsely populated. Anderson's eyes encompassed the enormous domed ceiling and moved to stare at the winding staircases of each floor which compromised an grandiose spiral. The marble angels perched on the supporting pillars stared benignly back down at him. Surrounding them was a low vibrating garbled sound of other visitors like the subtle tunings of an orchestra.

" You may recall that you would take us on various outings like this when we were children." Enrico said.

"Heh." Anderson murmured. "Sae ye'd thought ye return teh favor?"

"Not particularly. I enjoy these places" Enrico retrieved a pair of brittle looking spectacles from his jacket pocket.

"Ah didnae ken ye needed glasses." Anderson remarked with light surprise.

"Oh." Enrico straightened agape as if he had been called out on a embarrassing tick. Ducking his head, he tipped the glasses up the bridge of his nose." Not very often… just for reading and such things." He muttered.

Anderson took in the sight with mild satisfaction. He secretly approved of people who wore glasses for the simple reason that he also wore them .

They ascended up the flight up of well-worn marble stairs. From where the point they started, they walked from piece to piece.

Maxwell stopped in front of a painting of two women in a pasture. One was adorned in a white abundantly flowing dress, the other was nude, one arm draped in a red cloth luxuriating on a marble water filled sarcophagus. The woman in white held a vase of jewels and the nude woman bore a small torch. In the middle between them was a pensive cupid whose hand was submerged in the water as to reach in or stir it.

Anderson remembered the painting from somewhere "This wan is quite famous isn't it?" .

"Yes and it is also one of my personal favorites. Titian's Sacred and Profane love. The bride on the left is being assisted by Venus and Cupid to the right .One woman represents earthy love, and the other love that is spiritual and everlasting . " Enrico said in a soft reverent hush as if they were before an altar.

"Its nice." Anderson commented.

Enrico looked at him critically.

They continued their way down the gallery.

"Have any of the pieces struck you?" Enrico said

"Ah can't say yet." Anderson said.

As they turned the corner, they passed a wooden sculpture of 'Christ as the Man of Sorrows.

Anderson stopped before it.

The Christ's head was tilted on the smooth pale specter of his neck. A crown of hideously sharp black thorns encircled his forehead. Blackish blood droplets oozed forth from it and encroached His deep brooding brow and somber wet eyes. The rest of His features were wrenched, frozen in an eternal groan. His hands with its touchingly tapered fingers and small translucent fingernails hovered delicately over His limp and sunken chest in a gesture of supplication. The rag between His legs pulled and slipped down around His deep set hips. Somehow the sculpture hard inert material espoused with beautiful clarity the substance, depth, and texture of yielding mortified flesh. The Christ looked alive, human- too human- as if it were about to moan and weep before them.

Anderson stood transfixed .

"Boot tha wan makes meh feel sumthang teh most. " He announced.

"Yes, it is true- to each his own." Maxwell spoke absentmindedly. "One's peculiar taste reveals so much about him."

As they walked further down the gallery, it seemed the art had become more vivid, realer than the visitors themselves. They had become vague and indistinct, phantoms passing through worn curtains.

"I hope you haven't forgotten your promise Father. " Maxwell said.

"Ah dunnae furget mah promises." Anderson stated.

"Neither do I." Maxwell paused acerbically. " Rather, like the works that surround us, they certainly are memorable. Yet they can also be considered quite _fragile_."

'They same tae beh holden oop alrite" Anderson glared at the boy for the subtle jab. "Sae. Are ye gaen tae ask meh wat mah favorite color is ?"

Maxwell bat his eyes behind his spectacles. "Why? Do you think it is important for me to ask you that Teacher?"

"Cuild beh." Anderson grunted. "Ye nevar know dae ye?"

"Very well Father ." Maxwell cleared his throat. "What is your favorite color ?"

" Green." Anderson answered.

" Having obtained that piece of vital information, I think we can move on." Maxwell said dryly. " Actually, the question I intended to ask was how did you join the priesthood?"

It was a good question, but it was best to keep his response short and vague. "When Ah was a youth in Scotland-" The priest began.

"You say you said you were from Scotland, but you never said where in Scotland." Maxwell interrupted. "Such details can be important."

"When Ah was a youth in Edinburg," Anderson clarified with slight irritation. "Ah had joined the seminary directly frum mah public schoolen. A visiten priest saw mah potential. Ye might remember Father Renaldo- he wuild visit Lukes frum taime tae taime After Ah completed mah seminary education ,Ah did sum missionary wark wit him abroad. Later, Ah was transferred through his referral tae Rome as Ah had an opportunity tae steward an orphanage and school. Teh auld priest who had stewarded it had passed on. Ah had the rite qualifications, Ah specialized in teachen, and it was sumthang Ah wanted tae dae. And tha was tha. "

"Yes I do remember Father Renaldo from his various visits. " Maxwell inquired. "After all these years, you two remain close?"

"Ye cuild say tha." Anderson nodded. "Hes a gude man."

"Why did you join the priesthood?"

"As Ah see it, it wasnae by any deliberate decision Ah made. Ah was called by the Lord tae this vocation. All Ah did was Ah chose tae follow tha path He intended fer meh."

"It was that simple ?"

" Tha simple."

"But if you weren't called to be a priest , what would you have been?"

Dumbstruck, Anderson ticked his head. "Wat kind o question is tha."

"What kind?" Enrico mused. "I suppose it would be called a hypothetical one."

"Pass." Anderson said with a brusque gesture.

Now Enrico ticked his head. "Pass?

"Aye, pass." Anderson repeated.

"We never agreed to have_' passes_', did we Teacher?" The young man uttered the word 'passes' with quiet disdain.

"Nae we didnae, boot shuildnae Ah hae tha right tae pass a question?" Anderson grumbled.

"Very well." Maxwell clasped his finger tips together to form a pyramid. "Then I shall grant you three passes, but I also grant myself the right to revoke one pass."

"Then yer only given meh two." Anderson said dourly.

Maxwell pursed his lips, displeased. "Fine. Four."

"Generous o ye." Anderson grumbled.

"May I ask you why you passed on that question in particular?"

"Ah'm nae in teh habit o answeren hypothetical questions ."

"Then may I attempt to restate it in a fashion more in-keeping with your habits?"

Anderson sighed, already exhausted. 'Ye can try."

What is your obligation to your charges?"

" The foremost obligation is tae teech mah students tae abide in teh way of the Lord."

" You achieve this by how?"

"By any meens necessary."

"But not by answering hypothetic questions I see?" Enrico purred.

"Fine." Anderson huffed. "If God hadnae o called meh, Ah'd guess Ah'd still beh a teacher. Ah like tae wark wit the young and lead them in the rite direction. Ah'd might o made a decent librarian." The priest thought of himself hopelessly disorganized with his books and grimaced. He imagined something he was much better at, digging diligently in his garden, his flowers blooming with charming predictability . "Or a gardener maybeh. Ah always considered mahself haven a bit o a green thumb. It's a bit like teachen, helpen thangs grow tae their full potential-"

"You'd prefer the quieter professions then. Nothing glorious and lucrative, nothing especially ambitious? " Enrico interrupted Anderson again. " A simple life."

"Glory? Lucre? Thas ambition ill used." Anderson scoffed. "Peace, gude service and privacy are more far valuable these days."

"I've noticed. " Maxwell said. "You seem to be very private person ."

"Than we share tha in common, dunnae we?" Anderson said.

Maxwell eyes rested on him with enigmatic significance. "We may share more in common then that Teacher."

The priest was not given the chance to formulate a response . He turned in Maxwell's direction and almost stumbled back as he was confronted by a gigantic painting of a nude woman.

The woman wore a lascivious smile and deceptively chaste pink flush on her cheeks. Her breasts were round, pendant, lovingly painted to a rosy bud of a point. She lay on a bed, serpentine limbs and fleshy curves enhanced by their lopsided languorous pose like that of the fluid solidity of melting candle, thighs slightly apart under a sheet. The sheet was being yanked away by an mischievous boyish Cupid with golden wings. To the side was two jovial looking infants holding an arrow and testing against a stone. Anderson's eyes darted away from the composition to glimpse at the label: Danae.

Anderson knew it was prudish and parochial to be discomfited at nudity in an art museum where everywhere the human body had been reduced to an aesthetic object for public enjoyment. However for Anderson art served a greater function then an aesthetic one. It deferred, externalized and dignified the principles of religion and morality. Nudity was acceptable to him as long as it was done tastefully and glorified the human body as God's work. If thinking this made him a parochial prude, the priest thought grumpily , so be it. Yet the content of this particular painting fulfilled neither one of Anderson's prerequisites . It was 'playful', powdery and prurient (also pagan) and clearly served no high purpose or much of a purpose at all, Though many could defend the piece on the mere basis that it was a work of art, but it would be apparent to anyone with common sense the artist hadn't had art on his mind.

Anderson caught a glance of Maxwell from the corner of his eye. He was surprised. Many young men would blush, giggle, or ogle such an painting but Maxwell stood before it , unflappable, and unfazed as any veteran appreciator. He might as well be looking at a bowl of oranges.

"What do you think of this piece Father?" Maxwell stroked his chin.

Anderson turned away and adjusted the glasses on his nose. "Pass."

* * *

As they meandered towards the end. Anderson said. "Ah wasnae expecten a day trip and a tour . Ah spent longer than Ah thought ."

Enrico folded his glasses with a crisp click, and put them in his jacket pocket. "Then you must be a appreciator of the arts also?"

"Aye, Ah must beh!" Alexander Anderson, appreciator of the arts! Anderson chuckled at the absurdity of the title. "Ah did enjoy mahself taeday. Ye dae ken a lot aboot art. Its quite impressive. "

"Well." Enrico took a small bow." What can I say about that Teacher?"

"Wate'er ye plaze. "Anderson chuckled.

Saying nothing else, Enrico gazed at him intently.

Anderson stared back dryly.

"Wuild ye like tae meet again son?" The priest was frank.

Maxwell's stance remained still, his lips unmoved. Then he turned.

" If you wish to continue our discussion" He slyly glanced over his shoulder. "You know how to reach me. Good afternoon Father. "

Before Anderson could answer, Maxwell had started to walk away.

"Ah'll call ye tomorrow evenen ." Anderson called. "Thas's a promise ."

Wide eyed, Maxwell twisted his head over his shoulder again. He grimaced, as if baffled at himself for doing so and rushed away with an elastic snap. His figure became slender gathering of lines as he ventured out through the door out into the light.

Anderson wondered if Maxwell was going to meet someone else.

* * *

It was about a week and a half later that Maxwell and Anderson met again outside of Corte Elegante. Since then, the weather had taken an unusual drop in temperature. The priest watched clouds of fog eject out of passerby's mouths like the passing puttering exhaust of cars. As he waited outside, Anderson ruminated about the afternoon at the museum. It had been strange but overall had went well. He could not concieve how this afternoon might transpire.

"Ye look pale." Anderson said when Maxwell came out. Paler than usual Anderson thought. The boy's pallor was bluish alabaster as if he had been carved from snow . "Hae ye eaten son?"

Enrico ran a hand over his eyes, sighing. The faint hollows under them matched his pale violet irises. "No, I have no appetite in the morning."

"Then wat dae ye dae tae rouse yerself?"

"Humph. I had a coffee and a cigarette as I usually do." Maxwell grumbled.

Anderson brow knit disapprovingly. "Thas a nae proper way tae start the day Maxwell."

" Regardless of how I start the day Father, I find it starts itself." Enrico's indifferent shrug transitioned into a congested cough into the cup of his hands.

"Yer comen doon wit a cough- and yer still ingesten tha poison?" The priest chided. He laid a hand to steady the young man's convulsing shoulder and by impulse, plucked the fabric of his black coat between his thumb and forefinger. The fabric was too light, too thin between them.

Anderson's eyes widened incredulously. "This material is fer the wrong season. Dunnae ye hae a proper coat?"

In response, Enrico scowled.

Anderson shook his head disbelievingly and flung his coat off to drape over Maxwell's shoulders.

Like an reflex, Maxwell jerked away, arms tight around himself. "No! I won't take your coat Teacher-" He sucked the frigid air between his grit teeth. "Not even if I was naked and freezing!"

Blinking, Anderson looked downwards in an attempt to conceal his dumb astonished hurt at the boy's response. Still holding his coat open he said. "Ye'll freeze soon enough in wat yer in."

Maxwell's expression was drawn and defensive, as if determined to freeze.

Anderson hung the coat over his arm and suppressed a downhearted sigh. "Then at least we shuild git oot of this cauild ."

"Why should we? I'm not cold in the slightest." Maxwell announced haughtily. "In fact I'd rather walk a bit!"

Maxwell took off. Anderson followed but he could not bear to put his coat on as Maxwell had nothing to wear himself. Instead he watched bitterly as the boy tried to conceal his shivering in a brisk uneven pace.

A street later, unable to stand it anymore, Anderson halted Maxwell and gestured to a brightly lit men's retailer those glossy window promised "Affordable Luxury" "Why dunnae we gae in here fer a moment."

"Humph." Maxwell crossed his arms. "I refuse to go in ."

"Suit yerself lad." Anderson said matter-of-factly. "Naebady forcen ye tae gae anywhere boot if ye change yer mind, Ah'll beh inside ."

Not looking behind to check if Maxwell was following, Anderson swung the brassy door open and entered the shop.

The shop was longer and deeper then it appeared from the outside and very well stocked with all forms of apparel, gloves, and leather goods. From his quick surveillance , all the heavier coats were far too decorated and trendy for his liking until he spotted a slate grey coat in the farthest corner. Its clean simplicity that the fashionable find dull was sheer relief to his eyes.

Anderson went to the rack and sorted through it, judging by feel. Sensing someone's stare on him, he looked up.

Maxwell stood there.

The priest resisted the nagging temptation to taunt ' so you changed your mind', or 'told you so", fearing Maxwell might march off in a fit of pique .

Anderson gave Maxwell coat that seemed most proper. "Put tha on."

Maxwell silently, sulkily obeyed.

"Hows tha? Warm enough? Comfortable?" Anderson asked concernedly.

"Yes, the lining is warm." Maxwell admitted with a glum sniff. "and comfortable."

"Does its job then. Fits rite and it has pockets. Always useful." Anderson took a step back to better assess it,

Maxwell leered. "May I take it off now?"

"If ye wish."

Sliding out of the coat, Maxwell shoved it back onto Anderson's arm with a audible huff.

A young dark-eyed diffident salesman peered over the racks. "May I… help you Father?"

"Ye can child. We're buyen this coat." Anderson handed over the coat.

"No we aren't-" Enrico stepped forward.

"Aye, we are." Anderson stated authoritatively and barred Enrico back gently with one arm. Behind him, Enrico's mouth dropped and his eyes blazed affronted. "Take it tae the cashier plaze ."

The salesman appeared anxious and confused but he did as instructed.

The three men bumped their way through the circular racks to the counter like a bumbling troop of wayward pilgrims. Their irregular journey was further complicated as Enrico attempted to maneuver around Anderson's large back to intercept the salesman in front of them.

"No Teacher- I didn't ask you to buy me it-" Maxwell gawked.

" Aye, boot Ah'm daen it anyhow." Anderson blocked Enrico's path with blunt bracing movements.

"But you are being uncouth!" Maxwell sputtered.

"Ah can live wit tha." The priest said tersely.

They arrived at the counter. Ignoring Maxwell's clamor besides him, Anderson took out his wallet from his trouser pocket.

"You're not listening to me Teacher- " Enrico hissed and pointed in his ear. _"I find this whole exchange very embarrassing and dishonorable- "_

"And letten a young man who hasnae had his breakfast catch his death o cauld is mooch more honorable !" Anderson growled and motioned Enrico away with hassled brush of his gloved hand. "Wats embarrassen is teh scene yer maken in this nice quiet shop. Will ye step back son?'

Flustered, Maxwell stomped back.

Meanwhile, the salesman nervously folded the coat and pretended not to notice anything that was going on around him.

"Dunnae put it in teh box, he'll wear it now." Anderson instructed.

He brought out his credit card for personal spending that he rarely used it, for he was always suspicious of "credit" and did not like having debts preying on his mind. In this moment, time was of utmost importance. In the rush to get it to the counter, Anderson hadn't even had a time to glance at the price.

Seeing the receipt, Anderson's jaw clenched. The coat was far more expensive then he could have anticipated. To prevent Maxwell from knowing that, he ducked his head and encircled a hand around the receipt as he scribbled his rough signature on the bottom line.

"Bless ye ." Anderson said to the salesman when he took the coat .

" I cannot allow this Teacher -" Maxwell muttered.

"Too late, already happened." Anderson promptly tore off the tags then shoved the garment in the Maxwell's open hands."Ye best accept it."

Maxwell stared at it incredulously, then looked up at Anderson.

"Consider it a birthday gift." Anderson said as if to explain.

"But you already gave me one." Enrico frowned.

"Fer next year then." Anderson muttered.

"Isn't that rather premature?" Enrico said dryly.

"Yer a very difficult boy aren't ye?" Anderson grumbled.

Maxwell smiled slowly as if in admission. To Anderson's relief , he put the coat on.

"Teacher, when is your birthday?" Maxwell adjusted the coat around himself.

Anderson brow furrowed. He knew his age (or his rough age around), but he did not know the specifics such as the month or the day he had been born. But then how did he know how old he was?

"Its in June." Anderson said. Somehow that month felt right. "Why dae ye ask."

"Just curious." Maxwell's forehead creased with fastidious doubt. "We never celebrated it."

The priest scoffed. "Why wuild tha matter. " .

* * *

"Ye kape butteren tha toast" The older man watched with exasperation. "Ye barely eaten it."

Although Enrico had insisted he wasn't hungry, Anderson had brought him to the nearest café. To spite him, Enrico ordered the most minuscule thing available. Later when Enrico had tried to order coffee , much to Enrico's displeasure Anderson spoke over him and ordered him a honeyed lemon tea instead. It was better for a cold.

Enrico continued his raspy methodical scrapes on his toast. The butter had conglomerated into small pools on its crumby porous surface. He paused in his scraping and looked at the older man.

"I cannot help but wonder Father. Did we never celebrate your birthday because you do not like it?" Enrico uttered.

"Ah hae nae strong feelens either way. A birthday happens e'ery year. It sames frivolous tae made a fuss o'er it, sae can weh drop this subject ?" Anderson grumbled into his teacup .

"Certainly we can." Maxwell said lightly.

They stared at each other.

"But we won't." Maxwell took a teasingly small bite of his toast. . "I wouldn't see how you wouldn't like it Teacher. Usually people do not like their birthdays because it reminds them of getting older. They feel it brings them closer to death."

He propped up his cheek in one hand" But you do not fear death, do you Teacher?"

"Nae." The priest said immediately. This answer came from him, easy, instantly, clear as a song he had heard many times before. "Ah believe in eternal life and Our lord and savior Jesus Christ who shared in humanity so that by His death he might break the power of him who holds the power of death—that is, the devil— 15 and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death. Hebrews 2:14-15. "

Anderson continued . "Tha and wat is there tae fear? We all must die sumday."

"That seems to be the common opinion. "Enrico smiled with delicate irony. "Certainly there must be an afterlife…. there must be divine justice. There is a Hell."

"And a heaven too," Anderson added.

"Perhaps Father… perhaps." Enrico's eyes dimmed and his wan smile dissipated into non-existence like the steam rising from his cup. "For some reason, Hell may be easier for some to fathom."

"Wat reason is tha?" Anderson asked carefully.

" Oh I don't know." The young man affected disinterest and slid a finger back and forth on the table cloth . "A lack of imagination I suppose

The priest suppressed a frustrated gust of breath from rising in his nostrils. "Tae beh fathomed as wat exactly? A lake of fire?"

"No, not particularly." Maxwell looked down as if he were composing a complicated thesis within himself.

" How would we know we aren't already in Hell Teacher?" He announced.

"Wat." Anderson sat up .

"What I mean to say is" Enrico swallowed. His eyes darted anxiously around the room as if he were seeking somebody, or trying to avoid them. "Wouldn't it be one of the worst punishment conceivable, to eternally, unknowingly relive one's failed life over and over? Theoretically the damned soul prays believing it is heeded by our loving God when it is the only is perceived by the devil. The soul's hope is a false one, and whoever hears them laughs at his prayers, at his inevitable humiliation and defeat? In this scenario, Hell could be here, now, this place. Us sitting in this café."

Anderson could say nothing for a moment. He leaned back in his seat and rubbed over his mouth several times with a gloved hand, frowning in troubled thought.

"Was… this… wat yer were talken aboot at lunch tha taime Maxwell?" Anderson ventured softly. "Is this wat ye think-"

"I thought I was asking you the questions, yes?" Maxwell's voice rose sharply.

" Ye are, boot now Ah'm asken ye a question son ." Anderson's eyes solemnly discerned the young man. "Why dunnae ye try and answer meh fer a change."

Maxwell's mouth and brow lowered sullenly. "Then why should I answer it? What ever happened to reciprocity Father? You never answered my question at lunch, whether there can be no amends for certain wrongs!"

"Ye nevar gave meh teh opportunity." Anderson glowered. "Ye _left early _remember."

'So I did." Maxwell tapped a testy finger on the table. "But I see nothing to stop you presently."

Anderson sighed and raised his hand. "Let meh git teh check."

After Maxwell had finished his toast and tea, they wandered around the surrounding streets with no destination in mind.

"Fine. Tae answer yer question…" Anderson rested a finger on his temple . "There once lived a priest …"

His voice drifted away as he searched for the right anecdote from some book though he could not remember the author or the title, or whether if it actually came from a book at all.

Maxwell opened his mouth to interject.

"Let me finish." Anderson stopped him with a raised hand. His voice rose as it took in his mind. " This priest. He hated damnation, nae fer himself boot fer his fellow men. He thought tha nae soul shuild ever hae tae endure teh pain o Hell. Sae while he did services fer others, he nevar went tae confession, he did not pray except fer others. He died, witoot proper rites."

Anderson then said. "Wat dae ye think aboot the priest's actions?"

"I think " Maxwell cleared his throat. " The priest's actions implies two things. Firstly that he wrongly believes all men are unsuitable for punishment. Secondly that he identifies with sinners thereby feels a sense of guilt or responsibility . "

Anderson nodded for him continue.

Maxwell did. "Theoretically yes, you could reward someone without punishing, or punish without rewarding, but then the terms would lose its import and significance, and with that, their attendant consequences. Punishment is a far better deterrent against the doing of bad deeds then the mere 'withholding of reward', as rewarding is a far nobler incentive and affirmation of goodness than simply the 'sparing of punishment ' Clearly for the universe to have any systemic order, 'justice' must necessarily exist, yet this priest finds the predicament unpalatable and believes all punishments are equivocally unjust, that in interest of 'fairness' there should not be consequences for misdeeds. "

Enrico gesticulated with outspread hands. "Secondly the priest acts on the grounds that if one is to be punished, we are all obliged to suffer with him . His moral obligation as a priest has been confused, in that he thinks his empathy and priestly duties towards his fellow men somehow implicates him with all his brother's sinfulness. If he were to be responsible for the salvation of every individual , the only outcome of that would be inevitable failure. This is the mindset of an extremely unfit person. "

"Ahh, boot isn't it unfit tae assume that we're hae _nae_ responsibility fer other people around us?" Anderson asked.

"Yes, but the priest's line of thinking may be described as 'we are all responsible for everyone, but I am the mostresponsible'. And why should that be? What does the priest compromising his own salvation accomplish for anybody else? Doesn't that merely point to a sinfully inflated sense of self importance?"

"Is tha wat ye think motivated him?"

"Not particularly. It seems that the priest's supposed issue sounds like a rather flimsy pretense. "

"A pretense for wat?"

" Rather than striving to achieve salvation and risk of God deeming his efforts lacking or insincere, the priest made a conscious decision and committed the equivalent of what only could be called "spiritual suicide", out of cowardice or spite, or an intermingling of both!" Maxwell proclaimed this as if this were irrefutably obvious.

Anderson smiled ruefully. " Sum men thought differently. Sum thought he was a saint."

Maxwell quirked a eyebrow as if to say 'what sort of men?' Instead he said. "What does that have to do with anything Teacher?"

"Yeh priest was misguided in wat he did, boot if he acted wit a heart o sacrifice, repentance and communion wit Christ's teachens, how can we tell wat lay in store fer him. Nae greater love than a man lay his life down for that of his friend. Maybeh it was meant in this earthly life, boot maybe that includes the next too. None of us can understand the wondrous strangeness o God's mercy, as He gave oop his own Son for oor sins, tae manifest that His plan for us is wan of benevolence and love, prior tae oor merit. " Anderson closed his eyes. The image of the Christ of Sorrows glimmered behind them like a distant prophetic shudder, a shadowy star. "The church does not demand we assume tha anywan is beyond salvation."

"But surely some people are." Maxwell said coldly. "Probably most."

"We can't ken tha son. In the parable o the lost sheep, it is said "Sae it is not the will of yer Father who is in heaven that wan of these little wans should perish." Christ died fer all men: Nay, there is not, and never has been, and never will beh a single human being for whom Christ did not suffer, witoot exception. And dunnae furget, many a gude man at wan taime or another were convinced they were headen taewards damnation. Even saints fell prey tae their despair at taimes." Anderson said sagely. "Boot in life, everythang has its purpose. Sumtaimes teh Lord, in all His love and wisdom, instructs us through trials, pains and uncertainties."

" Instruct us… in _what _precisely?" Enrico inquired hesitantly.

"In His mysteries." Anderson replied.

"In His Mysteries? " Enrico repeated it slowly, as if he were sampling it on his tongue. He sneered as if finding it not to his taste. "In His mysteries."

"Huh" Maxwell looked away. "I should like it better if you were instruct me in some of your mysteries Teacher."

"Mah mysteries? There's naethang tae spake there. Ah'm an open book." Anderson huffed.

"I would say more an epigram." Maxwell muttered under his breath. _"One comes to mind- Profound words signifying nothing."_

The priest turned to Maxwell, face stony and fixed with offense. "Ah heard tha young man."

"I am sorry Teacher." Maxwell sighed and bowed his head. " The issue that I have, is that your lessons, well meaning as they are- seem to consistently dissolve into a unsatisfactory concession to unknowingness or some generalized statement. They have no resonance, because it contains not a vagary of personal meaning."

"Wat dae ye expect lad?" Anderson snorted. "A hand written autobiography?"

"You did say you were a open book Father." Maxwell raised an eyebrow. With his slender hands he pantomimed the opening of a book. "and yet just when it is about to get interesting…"

Maxwell slammed 'the book' shut with a sharp clap.

"Ah'm not obliged tae tell ye everything am Ah?" Anderson grumbled.

"No, you're not _obliged _to tell me everything, " Enrico rolled his eyes and implored him with a swoop of his hand. "but surely you could tell me something!"

"It sames ye haven't been listenen." Anderson said gruffly. "Ah've been open wit ye- wit the added benefit o mah insight."

Then I would like more openness with a little less insight if you please." Enrico folded his arms.

"Ye can't separate teh two."

" Then you may wish to specify what you insights are, and where your openness begins." Maxwell replied insolently.

"Shuildn't a clevar boy like ye beh able to tell?" Anderson smiled.

Maxwell eyes slit at him . "One supposes. Then what one of God's mysteries do you refer to exactly?"

"There are many. The mystery of His sorrows for wan."

"Ah." Enrico's eyebrows raised. " You are speaking of yourself presently? "

"Nae, Ah'm not spaken o mahself."

" But I thought you were Teacher- obliquely. " Maxwell mocked.

" Ah wasn't." Anderson grunted.

"Yes what sorrows would you have to speak of?" Maxwell lilted. "You seem well content with yourself."

"Aye, Ah'm quite content -" Anderson sighed" Boot we all ken wat sorrow is. and we can create sorrow in all oor lives, when we furget oor high purposes and mistake wat is gude fer wat is base, and wat is selfless tae wat is self-serven."

"Have you ever done such a thing?"

Anderson thought about it .

"Yes." He answered honestly.

"What was it?" Maxwell's eyes brightened as if he were alerted to some urgent fact.

Anderson stared ahead, frowning. "Personal matters."

"Personal matters?" Maxwell eyes scrutinized the priest as if he were a chess problem. "Do you mean the raising of your children ?"

"O course not mah children-" Anderson retorted.

"Why 'of course not'?" Enrico rejoined. "Why shouldn't there be doubt about that? How is child rearing any different, any more altruistic than any other activity? Couldn't it be an unique operation of self love, a means to indulge someone's delusions of nobility? Say like _a vanity project?" _

Anderson jolted back as if Enrico had hurled a small and jagged stone at him.

"Ae…vanity project?" Anderson croaked.

Anderson mouth tightened and he squared his shoulders with indignation. He thought raising children was the few things that gave him peace of mind, what right did Maxwell have to pry at his motives? Then there was the implications that Maxwell was making- It was a foolish thing to suggest- not only foolish but mean spirited-

Anderson took a deep breath through his nose and his harsh hot torrent of thoughts ceased. The truly foolish and mean-spirited thing to do was to get angry at Maxwell. What eighteen year old child wasn't self absorbed and fixated on the surface of things? It was like Maxwell looking to the reflection in the mirror to know himself, when Anderson had known for a long time that whatever he saw in the mirror was not _him_.But that was so charming and frustrating about youth was that they presumed to know everything when they knew hardly anything. Surely, they weren't capable of comprehending his love. Anderson knew did not have to proclaim and protest that his love was real and that it was pure. It was pure as Heaven and as certain as death.

"Nae. It simply isnae like tha child." Anderson eyes softened with tender condescension. "Ye cuildnae understand how a father feels. Vanity has naethang tae dae wit it.'

"No I couldn't presume to understand that Father." Maxwell said coolly. " Perhaps you should elucidate me on the topic?"

Anderson stopped.

"Ah cuildane tell ye if Ah tried." He answered.

To that, Maxwell sighed and clapped shut 'the book' again.

* * *

Having walked a few streets they passed by a stall. Anderson bought a newspaper. They sat on a park bench, and divided it into sections and read through it. Later, Anderson folded the paper back up and gave it to Maxwell.

"Ere, it has the weather report fer all week. Cuild beh hepful."

Maxwell took it with an confounded expression. "Thank you for this paper…. And the coat as well. " He spoke awkwardly.

"Bah -nae need fer thanks." Anderson refuted it with a gruff wave. "Jes as lang as ye use it! It's a handsome coat dunnae ye think?"

"You should think so Father. You chose it." Maxwell rose from the bench and studied the sleeves. "But doesn't it look similar to yours?"

Anderson observed it at length. The coat was in many ways like his, long and slate grey (but darker), with matching buttons down its front.

" Ah pose theres a wee resemblance…." Anderson breezed a hand through his hair sheepishly.

" I must say though…." Enrico smirked as he did a graceful model's turn. "It is rather becoming on me. "

"Aye." From where he sat, Anderson chuckled softly . "Not bad."

" Yes… well." Maxwell shifted his weight on one hip to create a graceful tilt to his stance. I should be… going now. "

"Ah shuild too" Anderson stood and extended his hand.

Maxwell eyed it and cautiously offered his own. Their hands caught, clasped and gripped each other's, Anderson's fingers instantly swallowed Maxwell's slimmer ones.

Though Maxwell was much slimmer, and smaller in stature, his hand clenched with shocking power and his thumb plunged into Anderson's palm like a pike.

It then occurred to Anderson that the last time they had shook hands was two years ago, and before that, when Maxwell left his house. A handshake was usually a gesture of greeting. Everyone of their handshakes had been the prelude to a long separation.

Was that why Maxwell gripping his hand so tightly ?

They extricated their hands from each other's.

Maxwell looked down. A light lock of hair had fallen and obscured his face.

"Shall we meet next week then?" Anderson offered quietly.

"Yes Father. " Maxwell brushed the lock away to reveal lips that had turned up slightly. "I should like that."


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks for waiting everybody and my apologies. I meant to update much much earlier, but life got in the way. Before I proceed, I wanted to give a shout out to my readers and especially my reviewers (both past and present) who reserve a special place in my heart. It is your kind, demonstrative and effusive comments and encouragement that makes writing this story so worthwhile. So thank you thank you thank you Sigmund17, Yamiga,Felix Punch and Sunchildray. Now onto the chapter.

* * *

As he watched the numbers light at their excruciating pace, Anderson reminded himself next time to take the stairs.

The elevator reluctantly ascended floor by floor until it sighed and jolted resignedly into its designated destination. Maxwell had expressively told him this time to meet him at the apartment. Anderson knocked the door of 7A lightly, remembering the last time he hadn't been so considerate.

"The door is open." He heard. Given permission, Anderson entered.

He found nothing had changed in Maxwell's apartment except the pigeon blood roses in the vase had been changed to roses of a gregarious margarine yellow.

Maxwell stood in the kitchen door way in a powder blue cardigan and darker blue pants, a black slender necked wine bottle gripped in his fist.

"Good afternoon Teacher." Maxwell greeted him with a wave of his freehand.

" O nae- " Anderson growled and charged forward as if the wine were the red cape to his bullish advance. "Wat ever's troublen ye lad, drink is not the answer. Lets toss tha oot quickly-""Father! Its not to drink-" Enrico protested. He leapt back and clutched the bottle to his chest. "Its for the marsala !"

Anderson froze, hand still outstretched .

"Yer cookin ?" He gaped.

"Clearly." Maxwell rolled his eyes then gestured deftly towards the table. " If you would take a seat. Lunch will be served shortly."

Anderson sheepishly took a place at one of the table settings. Soon the cozy sound and smell of sizzling chicken acquainted itself to the apartment and its inhabitants. As an further accompaniment , Maxwell whistled a cavalier sounding tune as he cooked.

Later Anderson went and stood by the doorway.

"Beh careful. Dunnae burn yerself ." The priest chided over the corner

" Please Teacher. I am experienced in this. You may sit back down ." Maxwell punctuated his request with an insolent blink over his shoulder. "Thank you."

Anderson reluctantly sat back down. Unable to resist, he later got up again and peered over the corner again to catch Maxwell dousing the pan with an liberal gushing of wine.

"Dunnae put sae mooch of that wine in-" Anderson warned, "its early yet-"

"Father-" Violet flames shot and spit menacingly amongst Maxwell's vigorous handling . Anderson near winced. "The wine will be reduced, meaning only the flavor will remain, none of the undesirable effects. You should know as a cook yourself."

"Ah nevar make anything tha complicated." The priest huffed. "Jes dishes Ah can make in bulk. Pastas , soups, bread…"

"Ahhaaaa.." Maxwell mused.

"Hae ye discovered sumthing?" Anderson muttered.

" Yes , though I cannot believe it took me so many years to figure it out." The young man exclaimed. "And I thought you had ordered those cakes from the town. When you were the baker all along!"

The harried priest trudged back to the table. "Ah never mislead ye aboot it did Ah."

"Unknowingly perhaps." Enrico teased. "you told me in your exact words that you ordered the cakes Father.

"Ah dunnae remember sayin tha Ah ordered any cakes." Anderson grumbled.

A pause.

"Well you did."

The whistling started again.

"That song yer whistlen sounds familiar." Anderson thought about it. "Where's it from?"

"It is from Bach's St. Matthew's Passion. Titled: _Gebt mir meinen Jesum wieder_." Maxwell replied .

A steaming plate was set before Anderson.

"But more commonly referred to the Judas aria." Maxwell smiled broadly at him. "Bon appetit."

Anderson glanced up. "Not until yer served."

Maxwell nudged the fork towards Anderson's hand. "Oh, but I insist you try it first Teacher. "

Anderson tentatively took the fork, then tasted. The dish's heat and flavor spread instantly over his tongue, rich, warm, dark, the beguiling ghost of wine unmistakable. He chewed slowly and breathed through his nostrils. Delicious.

"I see. It is not to your liking…" Maxwell reached for it.

"Nae son". Anderson domed his gloved hands over his dish protectively. "Its very gude. When Ah'm done, Ah wuild even like another helping."

"Oh yes." Enrico straightened awkwardly. "Right away then."

To his incredulity, the young man snatched his plate right under his hands to supply him his second helping though he had not finished with the first.

Enrico came back with two plates, one carrying an substantially larger portion.

Anderson not wishing to offend or cause a unnecessary argument, set about to take whatever was offered.

"Where did ye learn to cook sae well?" Anderson posed conversationally as they started.

Enrico seemed pleased at the question. "I taught myself in my free time.

'Ah'm surprised they allowed tha in the seminary.' Anderson remarked.

"They didn't." Enrico smiled wickedly behind a fist. "Personal use of the kitchen was strictly forbidden. Yet through my ingenious methods, I obtained a key to the kitchen. I then studied and memorized recipes in the library- and used whatever they had in storage."

"Thas a lot o trouble fer a hobby." Anderson commented dryly.

"It wasn't a hobby. It was out of necessity. As I said before, the food they served us was inedible." Maxwell alluded to his past plight with a oblique queasy grimace .

Anderson put down his fork. Leaning in, he said pointedly. "Sae tha was why ye left seminary? Oot o hunger?"

Maxwell's eyes glimmered. Not exactly."

"Sum other reason then?"

Maxwell lips tugged in an unpersuasive smile. "We all have our secrets to bear don't we Father. "

Anderson stated. "Most secrets aren't worth bearen."

"That is quite ironic hearing that from you Teacher." Maxwell glared.

"Ah can't see how." The priest's eyes remained calm, fixed, glittering. "Is there anything ye'd like tae git off yer chest Maxwell?"

Maxwell looked away. "Not at this moment."

"Ah understand. Boot whenever yer ready-" Anderson offered. "Ah'm here."

Enrico's eye met his again. "Was that meant as an gesture Teacher?"

"Aye, a simple gesture." Anderson said softly. " That's all. "

"Very well." Enrico said with an inscrutable expression. "I will keep that in mind."

They busied themselves eating. When they both finished, Maxwell primly set his cutlery on his plate and said "There is another gesture I was thinking of… I cooked you this delectable lunch in the hopes you would oblige me"

"Naethang's free is it ." Anderson said warily.

Enrico's manner was direct. "I would prefer to say qui pro quo Teacher."

Anderson readied himself. "Ask then and ye shall receive,"

. "Would teach me how to…" Maxwell's head bowed

"Taich ye how tae wat?" Anderson's head ducked to follow the young's man line of sight . "Spake oop lad ."

"Shave." Maxwell uttered into his plate.

"Shave?" Anderson snorted. "Naewan ever show ye how? "

Maxwell replied with a minute shake of his head.

"Its simple enough." Anderson's eyes grazed over the smooth lunar plane of Enrico's cheek. "boot it doesnnae look like ye need tae shave yet -"

"Still." Maxwell's hand rose and hovered self consciously over his cheek. The beginnings of a heated flush was apparent through his splayed fingers. "Maybe I'd like to learn- for the future-"

"Sure." Anderson agreed hurriedly, having noted the boy's reaction. "Weh'll gae tae teh pharmacy and git teh proper tools-"

"No need." Maxwell stood and motioned Anderson to follow.

Enrico led him to the bathroom. On the sink counter lain and lined up like instruments on an surgeon's table or an interrogator's instruments of torture was a tactical looking safety razor, a jar of shave soap, a bushy lathering brush whose bristles had ashen white roots and ruddy grey tips. A dark potion bottle of aftershave completed the arrangement.

Anderson's mouth dropped. "Ye came prepared?"

"I am always prepared for your lessons Teacher." Maxwell remarked. " Though these supplies might not be what you normally use, I trust it shall suffice for a simple demonstration. "

"It will." Anderson nodded. He removed his gloves and placed them on the counter. He ran the tap , washed his hands and splashed lukewarm water over his face. "Usually ye shave rite after a shower as it softens yer beard." He explained.

The priest then soaked the brush in water, and dabbed it in the soap. He lathered up his face, brushing it on in small circles. "Ye dunnae want tae lay it on too thick. Kape teh lather at a thin even layer."

Enrico stared, intensely observant.

"Wat is it son?" Anderson deadpanned, jaw half lathered. " Hae Ah got sumthang on mah face?"

Maxwell clasped his hands behind his back in a rigid posture like that of an gentleman's room attendant. "I have never seen you without your gloves sir." He hushed.

Odd thing to notice.

"Well." The older man's face's adjusted itself from startled blankness to a brusque grin. He raised his bare dripping hands like a capitulating criminal. "Two frist taime in an afternoon lad. Ye'll hae a lot tae write in yer diary. "

That elicited a (albeit small and begrudging) laugh from the boy. With that, Anderson's grin relaxed and became genuine. He finished lathering, plugged the sink and filled it with lukewarm water.

"When yer shaven, handle lightly. Use as little pressure as possible. Let the razor dae teh wark fer ye. Ye also want tae angle the blade away from yer face at aboot an 45 degree angle." Anderson handed Enrico over razor to try. Enrico hesitantly took it.

"Like this?" Enrico gawped. He held the razor as if it might snap at him.

Anderson suppressed a chuckle. "Nae." He took readjusted Enrico's fingers, damp bare hands manipulating the boy's hand. "Like _this."_

Enrico stared uncomprehending.

" Watch meh." Anderson took the razor back and positioned it on his own cheek. "We start by layen teh blade on the skin, handle parallel tae the floor. Then loweren the handle, sae it cuts teh whisker." Anderson demonstrated. "See?"

Enrico's brow lowered, pallor visibly distressed. "You make it look… deceptively easy."

"Its aisy once ye git the gist o it." Anderson smiled kindly. "Sum men practice on their arms."

Enrico's mouth went sideways. "Their arms."

Anderson chuckled. "Ah wuildnae recommend it."

"Now weh shave wit teh grain, not against it. Irritates teh skin." The older man stretched the skin of his jaw with his thumb and forefinger, and applied the razor on the newly stretched surface like that of a drum . "Ye can git a closer shave if ye pull teh skin taut and run yer blade o'er it then."

Arms folded against his chest, Maxwell watched.

"Ye shave wit short strokes. Lets hae none o this long stroke business. If at frist ye dunnae succeed, lather oop and try again. Teh most important thang wit shaving is make sure yer blade is sharp enough and tae take yer taime." By this point, Anderson had thoroughly completed the side of his unscarred cheek. "The problem wit most men is they dae rush. That's how they cut themselves."

"So." Enrico smiled insistently.

"Sae." He grunted.

"You never told me what you use yourself Father."

"Meh? Ah use an electric." Anderson admitted. His daily shaving ritual was less than to be desired, the barest buzzing of a fatigued electric razor over his dry face. "Ah used a straight razor when Ah was mooch younger boot Ah had more taime then. '

"Did anyone teach you how to shave?"

"Nay. Taught mahself."

"Your father didn't teach you?"

"Cuildnae." Anderson maneuvered the razor up to the other side. "He passed on when Ah was young."

"I see… " Maxwell murmured. "and… ah… what about…?"

Anderson knew where the boy was heading. He cleaned his razor in the sudsy water and said indifferently. "Scar still intrigues ye eh?"

The boy swallowed. "Yes."

The corners of Anderson's lips curled. "Ah didnae git it from shaven son ."

"No, I mean…." Maxwell worried his bottom lip. " does it ever hurt to shave near … that area?"

"Its healed o'er." Anderson was curt. "that's why its a scar."

"Merely because something heals does not mean it doesn't cause pain." Enrico's voice echoed against the tiles.

"It doesnae matter." The priest muttered distractedly at his shaving reflection. "Not a problem fer meh."

In the mirror, he caught Maxwell's confused look besides him. Realizing his own admission, Anderson 's heart leapt and his hand jerked. The instant the blade bit and shredded the skin, he twisted away and clamped a hand over the cut.

Blindly, he felt . The cut had already healed.

"Teacher-"

Anderson swiftly turned around only to be confronted, overwhelmed by Maxwell's enormous frightened eyes.

Against the spooked clarity of those eyes, Anderson could say nothing, could not summon up a lie.

Instead he gazed back grimly, mouth tightly set, one hand pressed against his face, razor dangling in the other.

They looked. And looked, as if they had become something other than what they were.

Finally "You- cut yourself…did you not?" Maxwell blurted. As if reanimated by God's breath, he snatched behind himself, and offered forth a tissue box.

"Ah almost did." Anderson managed. He put the razor down and took a tissue, crushed its white ghostly mass along side the scarred side of his face, unsure exactly where he had been cut, silently praying Enrico had not seen anything or if he had, that he would take no pay no mind to it . "Its important tae kape a steady hand. Boot remember… if ye ever dae ever cut yerself- ye jes hold a tissue and press doon till the bleeden stops." He continued.

"Father." Maxwell's astonishment quickly gave way to an indignant leer. "I think I know how to take care of a minor cut."

Good, Anderson thought relieved, all that was forgotten. He tossed the clean tissue into the near by rubbish bin, randomly disturbed by an memory of Maxwell's wounded hand under the running tap. "Jes maken sure."

The priest completed the rest of his face without incident. Afterwards he wiped his face with a washcloth. "And weh're done."

"Do you use aftershave?" Maxwell inquired.

"If its there." Anderson answered simply. (It never was.) He took and tipped the vessel. A few clear drops dribbled onto his palm which he dabbed into his neck and jaw line. The fragrance was pleasant , not too antiseptic, like cedar and pine and something unexpected, maybe cider.

Enrico blinked. "I've never seen you this clean shaven before."

"Wat dae ye think?" Anderson asked matter-of-factly.

"Honestly ?" A mischievous smirk spread across Maxwell's face like the slow oozing of dark amber honey. " I think stubble suits you better."

'Insolent lad." Anderson glowered at Maxwell, then at his disgruntled reflection. " Boot Ah hae tae agree wit ye."

"And your mother?" The boy abruptly asked.

The older man sniffed. "She dunnae taich meh how tae shave."

"Did she pass on too? Did you grow up an orphan?"

Anderson's brow crossed. "This is getten a bit personal dunnae ye think."

"I am sorry. " The boy did not sound sorry at all. He leaned against the counter expression wry, expectant. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"Nae. " The priest said instantly. "Boot Ah think thas enough questions fer taeday."

"As you wish Teacher. Enrico drawled. "I hope you enjoyed your lunch."

"Ah did." Anderson told him. "Ah hope ye enjoyed yer lesson."

" Yes Teacher." Maxwell's eyes glimmered again." It was very informative."

* * *

Later, Anderson examined himself in the mirror, experimentally tapping his jaw. The lack of stubble under his finger pads bothered him, the skin underneath was barren, too smooth like an disturbing regression in age. His image was unrecognizable to himself and the unfamiliar scent of the aftershave lingered on his neck and collar. With the stubble gone, his scar looked freshly razed, exposed, like at any moment it would start to burn and bleed again.

He knew this was completely imaginary. The razor cut he had inflicted earlier that afternoon had healed so rapidly it hadn't been given the chance to bleed or so he recollected. It had not hurt either, he could not pretend it had. Whenever he was struck, shot, stabbed, Anderson called that sensation "pain", although it wasn't pain. Whatever he experienced was not something he could necessarily define. Perhaps the 'pain' (as he called it) was a kind of mental trickery "phantom" pain, the memory of pains past, the anticipation of pain that would never come like prayers never answered.

His stubble would return by the morning. The scar would be there, always there. Anderson pressed into his scar, the flesh taut, numb and dead. He felt the passing pressure of his touch , but it itself had no feeling in it.

How much of his body was a kind of scar then? Destroyed, dead but some how present, alive? But he understood sensation and he was alive, alive as anyone else, but then how much of his body had been obliterated, killed then regenerated, limbs severed re-grown, bones crushed then mended? How many times had he come back like Lazarus, come away and back from the valley of death…

The priest lay himself down to bed and before he slept, he recounted a psalm "_I lie down and sleep; I wake again, because the Lord sustains me." _

* * *

Two priests' boots trampled further down the damp grassy grounds of Ferdinand Luke's.

Out of nowhere, one of them stated. "I am 75 today."

Anderson's head twisted to look at Renaldo. It was as if the number of 75 had been the incantation of a spell that cleaved the older priest into an double vision; the vivid image of the youthful dark haired teacher of Anderson's memory superimposed upon with the faded hoary headed elder currently ambling besides him.

"75." Anderson gritted. "Wat does tha matter. Yer in gude form sir . Besides yer sore knee ye haven't aged a bit in teh last thirty years. Yer gude fur another thirty. "

"Aye." He added with a sniff. " and happy birthday."

Renaldo's face crumpled into amass of thick lines set in differing crisscrossing directions and his broad shoulders shook with deep doleful sounding laughter, an increasing rare sound of late. "Ah, Alexander… you and your stubborn optimism. It is good to see that you haven't changed very much since you were a young man."

Anderson said. "Ah wasn't always as Ah am "

"Its best not to recall the more difficult times in life." Renaldo commented. "Forgetting is one of God's great gifts to us."

The sunlight was charitably dispersed in the cooling torpor of the late afternoon. The bark of the trees almost could be stripped away like strips of soggy brown paper and his flowers were in their intricate flux between their blooming and wilting. The two men watched some of the orphans play together in the distance, the pale sunlight flowed easily though their active figures. Anderson wondered: Would they be cold, hungry, should he bring them cocoa and biscuits out to them after Renaldo left? These children who had no source of care, no attachment to this world but this place and him. Yet they were in this moment playing….

"Dunnae gae too far." Anderson called out to them.

The children ignored him.

Renaldo intruded into his foggy absence of thought. "Is there something troubling you Alexander?"

"Why dae ye ask." Anderson stared ahead.

"A teacher knows his students. Do you need to discuss anything with me?" Renaldo inquired in his vague factual manner. Renaldo was one of those rare persons who could ask anything without seeming curious or in want of any response. It were if the older priest always knew the answer already.

"If there were, we wuild hae discussed it already sir." Anderson said gruffly.

He could feel Renaldo's distinct, solemn, intimate, questing gaze on him. The one that asked without words: Are you certain Alexander? Are you certain?

A intolerable heady pang of annoyance afflicted Anderson, causing his eyes to clench shut. _A teacher knows his students_. Didn't a student know his teacher as well? _75. _Another spell had been cast, this time transporting him to his student days when Renaldo had seemed infinitely older and wiser than he, when Renaldo often asked him such questions he could provide no answer to or did not want to give an answer.

He opened his eyes. Time had passed since then.

"Ah'm certain." Anderson patted the older man on the shoulder. "Ye take care Renaldo."

* * *

In the evening, Anderson flipped through his planner book of the last three years. Contained in it was an compendium of his day to day life: "R. visit.", "trip to library ", "athletic day", recording what had already happened or detailing his future plans. A few tea cup rings, miscellaneous smudges and collateral blots blemished its pages. That was about it. It was dull, trivial, repetitious. Anderson was very satisfied. The triviality, the dullness, the repetitiveness was oddly reassuring, convincing. It could have been the diary of any other man.

Except of the several weeks worth with the pages ominously blank.

A few days ago, the priest had tucked Maxwell's number away between the pages, unable to think of any other suitable place to put it. When he reached the more recent entries, the piece of paper slipped out, irking him. He had recorded nothing about his meetings with Maxwell and did not know why.

Before he knew it, he picked up the phone and dialed.

It rung three times.

"Hello?"

"Its meh Father Anderson."

"Hello Father." Maxwell said.

Already, Anderson found himself at an impasse . He forgot why he had called Maxwell, or rather that he hadn't any reason to call in the first place.

Enrico interjected. "We already scheduled a visit… haven't we?"

The anxiety in Maxwell's tone did not go undetected.

"Ah'm not callen tae cancel or reschedule. Ye crossed mah mind o'er the week sae Ah decided tae give ye a ring." Anderson spoke with carefully engineered cheer, not too unenthusiastic to be suspect, not too enthused as to sound forced. "Well." The boy sounded unconvinced. "You may have crossed my mind once or twice Teacher."

Silence.

"Where are you presently?"

"Presently, Ah'm in mah office."

"What does your office look like?"

Anderson's eyes flickered around the room. Dust to dust. Dust everywhere, except on the books that were handled too frequently to gather dust. "Still teh same."

A heightened sense of hearing allowed Anderson to hear Maxwell form a smile like the minute click of a puzzle piece being pressed into place. "Still a hopeless mess?""Heh. Yes Ah'm afraid."

"Why was it always so disorganized Father?"

"Simple answer. Always too mooch tae sort through, not enough taime."

"That can describe many situations."

"Indeed it can." Anderson grimaced.

'…"

"Ye told meh ye had plans tae lave. Dae you still hae those plans? "

"Why wouldn't I."

"Ah see. When dae ye intend tae gae then?"

"I rather not say."

Anderson smiled gloomily. "Laven meh in suspense are ye?"

"I suppose that is one way of looking at it."

"Clearly." Anderson adjusted his glasses." boot Ah'd advise ye'd stay in the city as lang as possible."

" I did not ask for your advice Teacher." Maxwell said coldly. "Why should I do that ."

"There are plenty o reasons."

Anderson heard the tapping of drumming fingers. "Would you care to enlighten me on them?"

"Wan, ere ye hae yer kitchen."

"Hm. There are kitchens elsewhere I can claim. Try another. "

"Well… ye seem tae beh alrite where ye are."

Testy. "I can assure you I would be perfectly alright wherever I go Teacher."

"Then… ye may beh … happier stayen put. "

Defensive. "Happier than _what?"_

"Then ye were befur."

Silence caught them in its exhausting mortifying trap. Anderson ran his fingers through his hair and waited.

An tight affronted breath. "Before _what_? And even if one could guarantee happiness, who really deserves to be _happy?" _Enrico pronounced happiness like it were an curse or an illness.

Anderson sighed. "Sumtaimes weh dae deserve tae beh happy son."

"Then maybe sometimes we don't."

"And why wuild tha beh?"

"No reason whatsoever." Maxwell hissed. "Another reason please."'

" Ye want another reason?" Unthinkingly the priest stated. "Ah enjoy yer company."

"You… do?" Surprised. Suspicious .

"O course Ah dae." Anderson was also surprised at himself-the term 'enjoy' seemed improper somehow- but he tried not to let it show. "Dae ye doubt it?"

"No. I just do not hear that very often." The boy spoke quietly. The unasked question: why?

" Well … maybe its because yer… " Words were caught between the priest's teeth like the sparks between two struck stones, more words then his mouth could possibly form, probably words that had not been invented yet. Anderson settled for this. "Different."

"Different compared to who?"

"Compared tae everybady."

A pause.

"I cannot distinguish whether that is complimentary or uncomplimentary Teacher."

"It is wat it is." Anderson was frank. "Fer wat its warth Ah appreciate it."

"Do you appreciate talking to me about yourself?"

"…Its alrite." The older man conceded doubtfully. "Ah still can't figure why yer sae interested."

"But Teacher." Enrico's voice deepened still. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"Why. Ah'm as common as they come."

"You are modest Father. You are also steadfast. Self assured. Frank. Solitary. Strong. But _common_ is the last word I would used to describe you."

The priest did not know what to say to that, so he said "Hm."

"If you had truly been _common_," The contempt with which Enrico said 'common was the same with which he said "happiness as if the two conditions were synonymous. "I would have never bothered to write you all those years."

Anderson said calmly. "Shuild Ah find tha complimentary?"

"If you did, you would be mistaken Father." Enrico's slow, mellifluous voice lingered through the line. "It is merely the truth. "

. "If ye believe tha tae beh teh truth, yer well- mistaken."

"I am rarely mistaken, well or otherwise."

Anderson's lip twitched. "Ah wuildnae beh sae sure o tha."

"I meant to ask." Maxwell lilted. "Do you remember when we spoke in No Man's land, what scripture you quoted?"

" Corinthians 13:12 _For now we see through a mirror darkly, but then face to face." _Anderson recited. "_now I know in part, but then I shall know as also I am known." _

"Yes…" Maxwell's voice softened. "Do you really think that is true Teacher?"

Anderson's eyes veered to the window in front of him. Instead of his shallow impression of an reflection, he imagined Maxwell seated solidly across from him, expression polite, persistent, penetrating. "It is true son ."

Anderson then said. "Ah'm glad ye called meh tha nite."

"Oh?" Was the only response.

"Why did ye call meh lad? Because Ah'm uncommon?"

"I have my reasons."

"Sooch as?"

"I cannot deem to list them all." Enrico murmured. "I have many reasons."

"Wats the real wan Maxwell?" The priest demanded.

Dead cold grit. "Must I say it."

"Yes." Anderson assented.

"Really?" The tick of a bitter smile.

"Yes"

"If you insist….the real reason is…"

The pause was so long Anderson thought the phone might have been disconnected.

" I knew …." A sibilant clearing of his throat. . "you would come … if I asked."

The priest's fingers tightened on the receiver.

"So you see." Enrico asserted, with a quiver of defiance. "I was correct wasn't I?"

"Ye were correct there"

"As I said, I am rarely mistaken."

"If ye ever need anything Maxwell…" Anderson added. "Ye can ask meh."

"Ask and I shall receive?"

"Ask o meh and ye shall"

"How generous of you to say." Maxwell's sultry skeptical chuckle fell upon him like the dripping of scalding wax on cool mahogany. "But I'd think again before taking on such taxing burdens Father."

"Its not taxing or burdensome in teh slightest." Anderson said briskly. "Its who Ah am."

"Who is that exactly?"

"As Ah tole ye befur, Ah'm all things to all men sae that Ah might save some."

"Is that your intention Father?" Enrico asked dreamily. "To save me?"

"Teh better question is." The priest stared into the speaker's pinholes. "Dae ye want meh tae save ye Maxwell."

Silence.

"If our interests were to coincide… I speak hypothetically ofcourse…"

Anderson erupted. "Then wat?"

" A certain trust has to be established."

The priest cocked a brow. "Ah thought there already was ."

"Then you were mistaken again." Maxwell replied smoothly. " But I'd like that to be corrected. Would you like that also?"

"Ah'd like yer trust. Wat cuild Ah dae tae get it ?"

"Are you near a book Father."

Anderson sighed," Ah'm always near a book lad."

"Would you read to me."

The priest stirred in his seat. " Beg yer pardon?"

"I'd like you to read to me." A dry afterthought. "Please."

Anderson's mouth jutted open then clamped shut resembling a window shutter rattled to and fro by a impetuous gust of wind. When he could finally speak, he uttered. "_Now?"_

"Yes, if you have no objections or pressing matters." Maxwell continued. "Like you did when I was smaller. I found it… rather pleasant."

Mystified, Anderson tilted his head towards the ceiling and pressed the receiver into the heart that punched steadily against his breast bone. Was Maxwell trying to pull the mickey out of him? An off color prank? If not, what was this?

Admittedly, it was a very strange request… but then again, not entirely unreasonable. That and if all it took was a little reading to gain the boy's seemingly precious trust, who was he to refuse?

Anderson put the receiver to his ear. "Alrite." He muttered and shook his head disbelievingly yet placed a hand on the bible on his desk to confirm his resolve . "Psalms fine?"

"Yes." Maxwell said. "That is fine."

The priest opened to the appropriate page. Clearing his throat he began.


End file.
